THE 
LOG-CABIN  LADY 

AN      ANONYMOUS 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED  BY 
CARROLL  PURSELL 


1 


BERTf 
ACRE 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


They  served  tea  to  the  king,  the  queen,  the  general  of 

the  American  army,  and  other  important  people. 

frontispiece.     See  page  89. 


THE 

LOG-CABIN  LADYy 

AN    ANONYMOUS 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


MQN-REFEM1 


SWVAD  •  Q3S 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 

1922  . 

' 


Copyright,  1922, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


All  rights  reserved 
Published  November,  1922 


Phimtkd  in  the  United  States  of  America 


FOREWORD 

NOT  so  long  ago  Cooper's  Leather 
Stocking  Tales  were  being  widely  read 
in  Germany,  and  quoted  as  authority  on  life 
and  manners  in  America.  To  Dickens,  on 
his  famous  tour,  we  seemed  a  nation  of 
backwoodsmen  and  river  pilots.  So  re- 
cently as  1896  Kipling  foimd  a  city  as  im- 
portant as  Buffalo  a  source  of  amusement, 
looked  at  from  the  standpoint  of  culture. 

And  in  a  way,  Europe  has  been  right. 

It  is  a  very  wonderful  thing  —  this  de- 
mocracy of  ours  in  which  a  Lincoln  could 
make  his  way  from  the  pioneer  log  cabin 
to  the  White  House  —  in  which  a  John  J. 
Davis  may  still  rise  from  an  iron  mill  to  the 
cabinet.  But  we  are  a  nation  of  pioneers. 
We  have  the  virtues  of  the  pioneer,  but  we 
have,  also,  his  limitations.  Some  of  us 
have  been  too  busy  pushing  out  the  fron- 


FOREWORD 


tiers  of  an  empire  to  study  the  niceties  of 
social  life.  Beauty  and  fineness  in  our 
living  we  have  had  to  sacrifice  to  endurance 
and  steadfastness  of  purpose. 

But  now  we  have  outgrown  our  callow 
youth ;  wealth  we  have,  and  young  maturity 
and  leisure.  We  shall  not,  God  willing, 
lose  our  sturdier  virtues  in  our  pursuit  of 
culture  —  rather  let  us  sweep  aside  the  mist 
of  crudeness  which  hides  them  from  the 
world.  Let  us  add  to  our  courage  and  our 
idealism  and  our  kindliness  a  love  of  beauty 
and  harmony  in  ourselves  and  our  surround- 
ings. Let  us  learn  to  express  our  pioneer 
virtues  through  the  medium  of  charming 
manners.  Then,  indeed,  we  shall  have  made 
a  lasting  contribution  of  culture  to  the 
world. 

If  we  are  to  accomplish  this  ideal,  here  in 
our  new  world,  we  must  not  scorn  the  small 
details  which  after  all  make  up  the  sum  of 
living.     We  must  look  for  teachers  where 

vi 


FOREWORD 


they  are  to  be  found.  Because  we  do  not 
like  the  tangles  of  European  secret  diplo- 
macy, we  must  not  refuse  to  learn,  from  the 
countries  where  daily  living  has  been  made 
an  art,  as  much  of  that  art  as  is  compatible 
with  energy  and  honesty  of  spirit.  The 
wise  man  is  he  who  draws  knowledge  from 
whatever  source  he  may,  and  applies  it  to 
his  need. 

There  is  a  humorous  little  story  which 
H.  G.  Wells  told  me  once  about  himself — 
and  yet  it  is  a  poignant  little  story  too  — 
because  it  is  the  sort  of  thing  we  are  always 
doing  in  life  —  all  of  us.  There  are  so  many 
things  to  learn.  Mr.  Wells,  at  one  time  in 
his  life,  struggling  against  hardship  and 
poverty,  conceived  the  desire  to  own  a  set 
of  solid  silver  fish  knives.  They  became  to 
him,  as  it  were,  the  symbol  of  his  ambition 
to  acquire  the  surroundings  and  the  atmos- 
phere of  culture — a  whole  set  of  solid  silver 
fish  knives.  By  dint  of  hard-earned  literary 
vii 


FOREWORD 


dollars,  there  came  a  day,  of  course,  when 
he  was  the  proud  owner  of  the  fish  knives. 
And  then  Wells,  the  toiler,  was  invited  to 
dine  at  the  table  of  a  duke:  a  table  where 
every  item  of  service  would  establish  a 
precedent  in  England.  He  was  not  awed 
by  the  gorgeous  array  of  the  footmen,  nor 
by  the  great  hall  with  its  priceless  contents, 
nor  by  the  magnificent  banquet  room  in 
which  some  of  the  history  of  England  had 
been  enacted.  But  the  foundations  of  his 
poise  were  shaken  when  the  fish  course  was 
set  before  him.  There  were  no  fish  knives : 
fish  was  eaten  at  the  tables  of  dukes  (even 
as  in  America!)  with  a  fork  and  a  piece  of 
bread. 

"  I  went  home,"  said  Wells,  "  and  hunted 
up  a  friend  who  was  getting  married,  and 
who  longed  for  silver  fish  knives.  He  had 
not  dined  with  a  duke  —  and  I  made  him 
happy." 

This  seems  a  trivial  thing,  and  yet  it  is 
viii 


FOREWORD 


the  trivial  things  that  make  or  mar  the  hap- 
piness of  daily  living.  It  is  only  when  the 
details  of  social  intercourse  have  been  mas- 
tered that  we  can  forget  them,  and  cultivate 
in  peace  of  mind  the  bigger  things  that  min- 
ister to  mental  and  spiritual  growth. 


IX 


PREFACE 

THE  story  of  The  Log-Cabin  Lady  is 
one  of  the  annals  of  America.  It  is  a 
moving  record  of  the  conquest  of  self-con- 
sciousness and  fear  through  mastery  of  man- 
ners and  customs.  It  has  been  written  by  one 
who  has  not  sacrificed  the  strength  and  hon- 
esty of  her  pioneer  girlhood,  but  who  added 
to  these  qualities  that  graciousness  and  charm 
which  have  given  her  distinction  on  two 
continents. 

I  have  been  asked  to  tell  how  the  story  of 
The  Log-Cabin  Lady  came  to  be  written. 
At  a  luncheon  given  at  the  Colony  Club 
in  1920, 1  was  invited  to  talk  about  Madame 
Curie.  There  were,  at  that  table,  a  group 
of  important  women. 

When  I  had  finished  the  story  of  the 
great  scientist,  whose  service  to  humanity 
was  halted  by  lack  of  laboratory  equipment, 

xi 


PREFACE 


and  of  the  very  radium  which  she  had  her- 
self discovered,  one  guest  asked:  "Why  do 
you  spend  your  life  with  a  woman's  maga- 
zine when  you  could  do  big  work  like  serv- 
ing Madame  Curie?"  "I  believe,"  I  re- 
plied, "that  a  woman's  magazine  is  one  of 
the  biggest  services  that  can  be  rendered  in 
this  country." 

My  challenge  was  met  with  scorn  by  one 
of  the  women  upon  whose  education  and 
accomplishments  a  fortune  had  been  spent. 
"It  is  stupid,"  she  said,  "to  print  articles 
about  bringing  up  children  and  furnishing 
houses,  setting  tables  and  feeding  fam- 
ilies—  or  whether  it  is  good  form  for  the 
host  to  suggest  another  service  at  the  dinner 
table." 

"There  are  twenty  million  homes  in  Amer- 
ica," I  answered.  "  Only  eight  per  cent  of 
these  have  servants  in  them.  In  the  other 
ninety-two  per  cent  the  women  do  their  own 
housework ;  bring  up  their  own  children,  and 

xii 


PREFACE 

take  an  active  part  in  the  life  and  growth 
of  America.  They  are  the  people  who  help 
make  this  country  the  great  nation  that  it 
is." 

After  luncheon  one  of  the  guests,  a  woman 
of  great  social  prominence,  distinguished 
both  in  her  own  country  and  abroad,  asked 
me  to  drive  downtown  with  her.  When  we 
entered  her  car  she  said,  with  much  feeling 
—  "  You  must  go  on  with  the  thing  you  are 
doing." 

Believing  she  referred  to  the  Curie  cam- 
paign, I  replied  that  I  had  committed  my- 
self to  the  work  and  could  not  abandon  it. 

"  I  was  not  referring  to  the  Curie  cam- 
paign," she  replied,  "  but  to  the  Delineator. 
You  are  right;  it  is  of  vital  importance  to 
serve  the  great  masses  of  people.  I  know. 
It  will  probably  surprise  you  to  learn  that 
when  I  was  fourteen  years  old  I  had  never 
seen  a  table  napkin.  My  family  were  pio- 
neers in  the  Northwest  and  were  struggling 
xiii 


PREFACE 

for  mere  existence.  There  was  no  time  for 
the  niceties  of  life.  And  yet,  people  like  my 
family  and  myself  are  worth  serving  and 
saving.  I  have  known  what  it  means  to  lie 
awake  all  night,  suffering  with  shame  be- 
cause of  some  stupid  social  blunder  which 
had  made  me  appear  ridiculous  before  my 
husband's  family  or  his  friends." 

This  was  a  most  amazing  statement  from 
a  woman  known  socially  on  two  continents, 
and  famed  for  her  savoir  faire. 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  when  she 
made  her  confession.  She  was  stirred  by 
a  very  real  and  deep  emotion.  It  had  been 
years,  she  said,  since  the  old  recollections 
had  come  back  to  her,  but  she  had  been 
moved  by  my  plea  for  service  to  home 
women  and  to  the  great  mass  of  ordinary 
American  people. 

She  told  me  that  while  living  abroad  she 
had  often  met  American  girls  —  intelligent 
women,  well  bred,  the  finest  stuff  in  the 
xiv 


PREFACE 

world — who  suffered  under  a  disadvantage, 
because  they  lacked  a  little  training  in  the 
social  amenities. 

"It  has  been  a  satisfaction  and  a  com- 
pensation to  me,"  she  added,  "to  be  able 
sometimes  to  serve  these  fellow  country- 
women of  mine." 

And  right  there  was  born  the  idea  which 
culminated  in  the  writing  of  this  little  book. 
I  suggested  that  a  million  women  could  be 
helped  by  the  publishing  of  her  own  story. 

The  thought  was  abhorrent  to  her.  Her 
experience  was  something  she  had  never 
voiced  in  words.  It  would  be  too  intimate 
a  discussion  of  herself  and  her  family.  She 
was  sure  her  relatives  would  bitterly  oppose 
such  a  confession. 

It  took  nearly  a  year  to  persuade  this  re- 
markable woman  to  put  down  on  paper,  from 
her  recollections  and  from  her  old  letters 
home,  this  simple  story  of  a  fine  American 
life.     She  consented  finally  to  write  frag- 

XV 


PREFACE 

merits  of  her  life,  anonymously.  We  were 
pledged  not  to  reveal  her  identity.  A  few 
changes  in  geography  and  time  were  made 
in  her  manuscript,  but  otherwise  the  story 
is  true  to  life,  laden  with  adventure,  spirit 
and  the  American  philosophy.  She  has  re- 
fused to  accept  any  remuneration  for  the 
magazine  publication  or  for  royalties  on 
the  book  rights.  The  money  accruing  from 
her  labor  is  being  set  aside  in  The  Central 
Union  Trust  Company  of  New  York  City 
as  a  trust  fund  to  be  used  in  some  charitable 
work.  She  has  given  her  book  to  the  public 
solely  because  she  believes  that  it  contains 
a  helpful  message  for  other  women.  It  is 
the  gracious  gift  of  a  woman  who  has  a  deep 
and  passionate  love  for  her  country,  and  a 
tender  responsiveness  to  the  needs  of  her 
own  sex. 

Marie  M.  Meloney. 

September  1,  1922. 


xvi 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

They  served  tea  to  the  king,  the  queen,  the 
general  of  the  American  army,  and  other  im- 
portant people Frontispiece 

As  I  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  queen,  I  held 
out  my  hand 47 

My  first  formal  dinner  in  France  was  like  a  great 
family  party 60 

Her  expensive  party  was  a  dismal  failure    .  .  .    104. 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


I  WAS  born  in  a  log  cabin.  I  came  to 
my  pioneer  mother  in  one  of  Wiscon- 
sin's bitterest  winters. 

Twenty-one  years  later  I  was  sailing  for 
England,  the  wife  of  a  diplomat  who  was 
one  of  Boston's  wealthy  and  aristocratic 
sons. 

The  road  between  —  well,  let  it  speak  for 
itself.  Merely  to  set  this  story  on  paper 
opens  old  wounds,  deep,  but  mercifully 
healed  these  many  years.  Yet,  if  other 
women  may  find  here  comfort  and  illumina- 
tion and  a  certain  philosophy,  I  am  glad, 
and  I  shall  feel  repaid. 

The  first  thing  I  remember  is  being  grate- 
ful for  windows.  I  was  three  years  old. 
My  mother  had  set  me  to  play  on  a  mattress 
carefully  placed  in  the  one  ray  of  sunlight 

3 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


streaming  through  the  one  glass  window  of 
our  log  cabin.  Baby  as  I  was,  I  had  ached 
in  the  agonizing  cold  of  a  pioneer  winter. 
Lying  there,  warmed  by  that  blessed  sun- 
shine, I  was  suddenly  aware  of  wonder  and 
joy  and  gratitude.  It  was  gratitude  for 
glass,  which  could  keep  out  the  biting  cold 
and  let  in  the  warm  sun. 

To  this  day  windows  give  me  pleasure. 

My  father  was  a  school-teacher  from  New 
England,  where  his  family  had  taught  the 
three  R's  and  the  American  Constitution 
since  the  days  of  Ben  Franklin's  study  club. 

My  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  hard- 
working Scotch  immigrant.  Father's  family 
set  store  on  ancestry.  Mother's  side  was 
more  practical. 

The  year  before  my  birth  these  two  young 
people  started  West  in  a  prairie  schooner 
to  stake  a  homestead  claim.  Father's  sea- 
man's chest  held  a  dictionary,  Bancroft's 

4 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


History  of  the  United  States,  several  books 
of  mathematics,  Plutarch's  Lives,  a  history 
of  Massachusetts,  a  leather-bound  file  of 
Civil  War  records,  Thackeray's  "Vanity 
Fair",  Shakespeare  in  two  volumes,  and 
the  "Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow."  My 
mother  took  a  Bible. 

I  can  still  quote  pages  from  every  one 
of  those  books.  Until  I  was  fourteen  I  saw 
no  others,  except  a  primer,  homemade,  to 
teach  me  my  letters.  Because  "Vanity 
Fair"  contained  simpler  words  than  the 
others,  it  was  given  me  first;  so  at  the  age 
of  seven  I  was  spelling  out  pages  of  the 
immortal  Becky. 

My  mother  did  not  approve,  but  father 
laughed  and  protested  that  the  child  might 
as  well  begin  with  good  things. 

After  mother's  eighth  and  last  baby,  she 
lay  ill  for  a  year.  The  care  of  the  children 
fell  principally  on  my  young  shoulders. 
One  day  I  found  her  crying. 

5 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


"Mary,"  she  said,  with  a  tenderness  that 
was  rare,  "if  I  die,  you  must  take  care  of 
all  your  brothers  and  sisters.  You  will  be 
the  only  woman  within  eighteen  miles." 

I  was  ten  years  old. 

That  night  and  many  other  nights  I  lay 
awake,  trembling  at  the  possibility  of  being 
left  the  only  woman  within  eighteen  miles. 

But  mother  did  not  die.  I  must  have 
been  a  sturdy  child;  for,  with  the  little  help 
father  and  his  homestead  partner  could 
spare,  I  kept  that  home  going  until  she  was 
strong  again. 

Every  fall  the  shoemaker  made  his  rounds 
through  the  country,  reaching  our  place 
last,  for  beyond  us  lay  only  virgin  forest 
and  wild  beasts.  His  visit  thrilled  us  more 
than  the  arrival  of  any  king  to-day.  We 
had  been  cut  off  from  the  world  for  months. 
The  shoemaker  brought  news  from  neigh- 
bors eighteen,  forty,  sixty,  even  a  hundred 

and  fifty  miles  away.    Usually  he  brought 

6 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


a  few  newspapers  too,  treasured  afterward 
for  months.  He  remained,  a  royal  guest, 
for  many  days,  until  all  the  family  was 
shod. 

Up  to  my  tenth  birthday  we  could  not 
afford  the  newspaper  subscription.  But 
after  that  times  were  a  little  better,  and  the 
Boston  Transcript  began  to  come  at  irregu- 
lar intervals.  It  formed  our  only  tie  with 
civilization,  except  for  the  occasional  purely 
personal  letter  from  "  back  home." 

When  I  was  fourteen  three  tremendous 
events  had  marked  my  life :  sunlight  through 
a  window-pane;  the  logrolling  on  the  river 
when  father  added  two  rooms  to  our  cabin; 
and  the  night  I  thought  mother  would  die 
and  leave  me  the  only  woman  in  eighteen 
miles. 

But  the  fourth  event  was  the  most  tre- 
mendous. One  night  father  hurried  in  with- 
out even  waiting  to  unload  or  water  his 

7 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


team.  He  seemed  excited,  and  handed  my 
mother  a  letter. 

Our  Great- Aunt  Martha  had  willed  father 
her  household  goods  and  personal  belong- 
ings and  a  modest  sum  that  to  us  was  a 
fortune.  Some  one  back  East  "  awaited  his 
instructions." 

Followed  many  discussions,  but  in  the 
end  my  mother  gained  her  way.  Great- 
Aunt  Martha's  house  goods  were  sold  at 
auction.  Father,  however,  insisted  that  her 
"personal  belongings"  be  shipped  to  Wis- 
consin. 

After  a  long,  long  wait,  one  day  father  and 
I  rose  at  daybreak  and  rode  thirty-six  miles 
in  a  springless  wagon,  over  ranchmen's 
roads  ("the  giant's  vertebra,"  Jim  Hill's 
men  called  it)  to  the  nearest  express  station, 
returning  with  a  trunk  and  two  packing 
cases. 

It  was  a  solemn  moment  when  the  first 
8 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


box  was  opened.  Then  mother  gave  a  cry 
of  delight.  Sheets  and  bedspreads  edged 
with  lace!  Real  linen  pillowcases  with 
crocheted  edgings.  Soft  woolen  blankets 
and  bright  handmade  quilts.  Two  heavy, 
lustrous  table-cloths  and  two  dozen  napkins, 
one  white  set  hemmed,  and  one  red-and- 
white,  bordered  with  a  soft  fringe. 

What  the  world  calls  wealth  has  come  to 
me  in  after  years.  Nothing  ever  equaled  in 
my  eyes  the  priceless  value  of  Great- Aunt 
Martha's  "personal  belongings." 

I  was  in  a  seventh  heaven  of  delight.  My 
father  picked  up  the  books  and  began  to 
read,  paying  no  attention  to  our  ecstasies 
over  dresses  and  ribbons,  the  boxful  of  laces, 
or  the  little  shell-covered  case  holding  a  few 
ornaments  in  gold  and  silver  and  jet. 

We  women  did  not  stop  until  we  had 
explored  every  corner  of  that  trunk  and  the 
two  packing  boxes.  Then  I  picked  up  a 
napkin. 

9 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


"  What  are  these  for?  "  I  asked  curiously. 

My  father  slammed  his  book  shut.  I 
had  never  seen  such  a  look  on  his  face. 

"  How  old  are  you,  Mary? "  he  demanded 
suddenly. 

I  told  him  that  I  was  going  on  fifteen. 

"And  you  never  saw  a  table  napkin?" 

His  tone  was  bitter  and  accusing.  I 
didn't  understand  —  how  could  I?  Father 
began  to  talk,  his  words  growing  more  and 
more  bitter.  Mother  defended  herself  hotly. 
To-day  I  know  that  justice  was  on  her  side. 
But  in  that  first  adolescent  self-conscious- 
ness my  sympathies  were  all  with  father. 
Mother  had  neglected  us  —  she  had  not 
taught  us  to  use  table  napkins!  Becky 
Sharp  used  them.  People  in  history  used 
them.  I  felt  sure  that  Great- Aunt  Martha 
would  have  been  horrified,  even  in  heaven, 
to  learn  I  had  never  even  seen  a  table 
napkin. 

Our  parents'  quarrel  dimmed  the  ecstasy 
10 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


of  the  "personal  belongings."  From  that 
time  we  used  napkins  and  a  table-cloth  on 
Sundays  —  that  is,  when  any  one  remem- 
bered it  was  Sunday. 

Great- Aunt  Martha's  napkins  opened  up 
a  new  world  for  me,  and  they  strengthened 
father's  determination  to  give  his  children 
an  education.  The  September  before  I 
reached  seventeen,  we  persuaded  mother  to 
let  me  go  to  Madison  and  study  for  a  half 
year. 

So  great  was  my  eagerness  to  learn  from 
books,  that  I  had  given  no  thought  to  peo- 
ple. Madison,  my  first  town,  showed  me 
that  my  clothes  were  homemade  and  tacky. 
Other  girls  wore  store  shoes  and  what 
seemed  to  me  beautifully  made  dresses.  I 
was  a  backwoods  gawk.  I  hated  myself 
and  our  home. 

With  many  cautions,  father  had  intrusted 
eighty  dollars  to  me  for  the  half  year's  ex- 
penses. I  took  the  money  and  bought  my 
11 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


first  pair  of  buttoned  shoes  and  a  store  dress 
with  nine  gores  and  stylish  mutton-leg 
sleeves !  It  was  poor  stuff,  not  warm  enough 
for  winter,  and,  together  with  a  new  coat 
and  hat,  made  a  large  hole  in  my  funds. 

I  found  work  in  a  kindly  family,  where, 
in  return  for  taking  care  of  an  old  lady,  I 
received  room  and  board  and  two  dollars 
a  week.  Four  hours  of  my  day  were  left 
for  school. 

The  following  February  brought  me  an 
appointment  as  teacher  in  a  district  school, 
at  eighteen  dollars  a  month  and  "turn- 
about "  boarding  in  farmers'  families. 

The  next  two  years  were  spent  teaching 
and  attending  school  in  Madison.  When  I 
was  twenty,  a  gift  from  father  added  to  my 
savings  and  made  possible  the  realization 
of  one  of  my  dreams.  I  went  East  for  a 
special  summer  course. 

No  tubes  shuttled  under  the  Hudson  in 
those  days.  From  the  ferry-boat  I  was  sud- 
12 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


denly  dazzled  with  the  vision  of  a  towering 
gold  dome  rising  above  the  four  and  five- 
story  structures.  The  New  York  World 
building  was  then  the  tallest  in  the  world. 
To  me  it  was  also  the  most  stupendous. 

Impulsively  I  turned  to  a  man  leaning 
on  the  ferry-boat  railing  beside  me. 

"  Is  n't  that  the  most  wonderful  thing  in 
the  world?"  I  gasped. 

"  Not  quite,"  he  answered,  and  looked  at 
me. 

His  look  made  me  uncomfortable.  I 
could  have  spoken  to  any  stranger  in  Madi- 
son without  embarrassment.  It  took  me 
about  twenty  years  to  understand  why  a 
plain,  middle-aged  woman  may  chat  with  a 
strange  man  anywhere  on  earth,  while  the 
same  conversation  cheapens  a  good-looking 
young  girl. 

That  summer  I  met  my  future  husband. 

He  was  doing  research  work  at  Columbia, 

13 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


and  we  ran  across  each  other  constantly  in 
the  library.  I  fairly  lived  there,  for  I  found 
myself,  for  the  first  time,  among  a  wealth 
of  books,  and  I  read  everything  —  auto- 
biographies, histories,  and  novels  good  and 
bad. 

Tom's  family  and  most  of  his  friends 
were  out  of  town  for  July  and  August.  I 
had  never  met  any  one  like  him,  and  he  had 
never  dreamed  of  any  one  like  me.  We 
were  friends  in  a  week  and  sweethearts  in 
a  month. 

Instead  of  joining  his  family,  Tom  stayed 
in  New  York  and  showed  me  the  town. 
He  took  me  to  my  first  plays.  Even  now 
I  know  that  " If  I  Were  King"  and  " The 
Idol's  Eye",  with  Frank  Daniels,  were 
good. 

One  day  we  went  driving  in  an  open  car- 
riage— his.  It  was  upholstered  in  soft 
fawn  color,  the  coachman  wore  fawn-colored 

livery,  and  the  horses  were  beautiful.     I 
14 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


was  very  happy.  When  we  reached  my 
boarding  house  again,  I  jumped  out.  I 
was  used  to  hopping  from  spring  wagons. 

"  Please  don't  do  that  again,  Mary,"  re- 
proved Tom,  very  gently.  "You  might 
hurt  yourself."  That  amused  me,  until  a 
look  from  the  coachman  suddenly  conveyed 
to  me  that  I  had  made  a  faux  pas. 

Not  long  after  I  hurried  off  a  street  car 
ahead  of  Tom^  This  time  he  said  nothing, 
but  I  have  not  forgotten  the  look  on  his 
face. 

Over  our  marvelous  meals  in  marvelous 
restaurants  Tom  delighted  to  get  me  started 
about  home.  Great- Aunt  Martha's  "per- 
sonal belongings  "  amused  him  hugely.  He 
never  tired  of  the  visiting  shoemaker,  nor 
of  the  carpenter  who  declared  indignantly 
that  if  we  wore  decent  clothes  we  would  n't 
need  our  bench  seats  planed  smooth.  But 
some  things  I  never  told  —  about  the  table 
napkins,  for  instance. 
15 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


We  were  married  in  September.  Our 
honeymoon  we  spent  fishing  and  "rough- 
ing it"  in  the  Canadian  wilds.  I  felt  at 
home  and  blissful.  I  could  cook  and  fish 
and  make  a  bed  in  the  open  as  well  as  any 
man. 

It  was  heaven ;  but  it  left  me  entirely  un- 
prepared for  the  world  I  was  about  to  enter. 

Not  once  did  Tom  say:  "Mary,  we  do  this 
[or  that]  in  our  family."  He  was  too 
happy,  and  I  suppose  he  never  thought  of 
it.  As  for  me,  I  wasted  no  worry  on  his 
family.  They  would  be  kind  and  sympa- 
thetic and  simple,  like  Tom.  They  would 
love  me  and  I  would  love  them. 

The  day  after  we  returned  from  Canada 
to  New  York  I  spent  looking  over  Tom's 
"  personal  belongings  "  —  as  great  a  revela- 
tion as  Aunt  Martha's.  His  richly  bound 
books,  his  beautiful  furniture,  his  pictures 
—  everything  was  perfect. 

That  night  Tom  made  an  announcement: 
16 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


"  The  family  gets  home  to-night,  and  they 
will  come  to  call  to-morrow." 

"  Why  don't  we  go  to  the  station  to  meet 
them?"  I  suggested. 

To-day  I  appreciate  better  than  I  could 
then  the  gentle  tact  with  which  Tom  told 
me  his  family  was  strong  on  "  good  form  ", 
and  that  the  husband's  family  calls  on  the 
bride  first. 

My  husband's  family  came,  and  I  realized 
that  I  was  a  mere  baby  in  a  new  world  — 
a  complicated  and  not  very  friendly  world, 
at  that.  Though  they  never  put  it  into 
words,  they  made  me  understand,  in  their 
cruel,  polite  way,  that  Tom  was  the  hope 
of  the  family,  and  his  sudden  marriage  to 
a  stranger  had  been  a  great  shock,  if  not 
more. 

The    beautiful    ease    of    my    husband's 

women-folk  filled  me  with  admiration  and 

despair.    I  felt  guilty  of  something.    I  was 

queer.     Their  voices,  the  intonation,  even 

17 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


the  tilt  of  their  chins,  seemed  to  stamp  these 
new  "  in-laws "  as  aristocrats  of  another 
race.  Yet  the  same  old  New  England 
stock  that  sired  their  ancestors  produced 
my  father's  fathers. 

Theirs  had  stayed  in  Boston,  and  had  had 
time  to  teach  their  children  grace  and  re- 
finement and  subtleties.  Mine  fought  for 
their  existence  in  a  new  country.  And 
when  men  and  women  fight  for  existence 
life  becomes  very  simple. 

I  felt  only  my  own  misery  that  day.  Now 
I  realize  that  the  meeting  between  Tom's 
mother  and  his  wife  was  a  mutual  misery. 
I  was  crude.  No  doubt,  to  her,  I  seemed 
even  common.  With  every  one  except 
Tom  I  seemed  awkward  and  stupid.  Poor 
mother-in-law! 

When  she  rose  to  go,  I  saw  her  to  her 
carriage.    She  was  extremely  insistent  that 
I  should  not.    But  this  was  Tom's  mother, 
18 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


and  I  was  determined  to  leave  no  friendly 
act  undone.  At  home  it  would  have  been 
an  offense  not  to  see  the  company  to  their 
wagon.  Even  in  Madison  we  would  have 
escorted  a  caller  to  his  carriage. 

Again  it  was  the  coachman  who  with 
one  chill  look  warned  me  that  I  had 
sinned. 

Before  Tom  came  home  that  afternoon  he 
called  on  his  mother,  so  no  explanations 
from  me  were  necessary.  He  knew  it  all, 
and  doubtless  much  more  than  had  escaped 
me.  Like  the  princely  gentleman  he  always 
was,  the  poor  boy  tried  to  soften  that  after- 
noon's blows  by  saying  social  customs  were 
stupid  and  artificial  and  I  knew  all  the  im- 
portant things  in  life.  The  other  few  little 
things  and  habits  of  his  world  he  could  easily 
tell  me. 

Few  —  and  little!  There  were  thou- 
sands, and  they  loomed  bigger  each  day. 
Moreover,  Tom  did  not  tell  me.  Either, 
19 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


manlike,  he  forgot,   or  he  was   afraid  of 
hurting  my  feelings. 

One  of  the  few  things  Tom  did  tell  me 
I  was  forever  forgetting.  Napkins  be- 
longed to  Sundays  at  home,  and  they  were 
not  washed  often.  It  was  a  long-standing 
habit,  to  save  back-breaking  work  for 
mother,  to  fold  my  napkin  neatly  after 
meals.  Unlearning  that  and  acquiring  the 
custom  of  mussing  up  one's  napkin  and 
leaving  it  carelessly  on  the  table  was  the 
meanest  work  of  my  life. 

Interesting  guests  came  to  Tom's  house, 
and  I  would  grow  absorbed  in  their  talk. 
Not  until  we  were  leaving  the  table  would 
I  realize  that  my  napkin  lay  neatly  folded 
and  squared  in  the  midst  of  casually  rum- 
pled heaps. 

One  night,  years  later,  I  sat  between  Jim 
Hill  and  Senator  Bailey  of  Texas  at  a 
dinner.  Both  men  folded  their  napkins.  I 
loved  them  for  it. 

20 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


During  that  first  year  Tom  made  up  a 
little  theater  party  for  a  classmate  who  had 
just  married  a  Philadelphia  girl.  With 
memories  of  Ben  Franklin,  William  Penn, 
Liberty  Bell,  and  all  the  grand  old  char- 
acters of  the  City  of  Brotherly  Love,  I 
looked  forward  eagerly  to  making  a  new 
friend. 

The  Philadelphian  was  even  more  languid 
than  Tom's  mother.  She  chopped  her 
words  and  there  were  no  r's  in  her  English. 
I  tried  to  break  the  ice  by  talking  of  the 
traditions  of  her  city.  She  was  bored.  She 
knew  only  Philadelphia's  social  register. 
Just  to  play  tit  for  tat,  twice  during  the 
evening  I  quoted  from  "Julius  Csesar"  — 
and  scored! 

We  had  just  settled  down  in  old  Martin's 
Restaurant  for  after-theater  supper  when 
two  tall  gentlemen  entered  the  room. 

"There's    Tom    Piatt    and    Chauncey 
Depew,"  remarked  Tom's  friend  casually. 
21 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


United  States  senators  are  important 
people  in  Wisconsin  —  at  least,  they  were 
when  I  was  young.  If  a  senator  visited  our 
community,  everybody  turned  out.  I  knew 
much  of  both  these  men,  and  Tom  had  often 
spoken  warmly  of  Depew.  As  they  ap- 
proached our  table,  Tom  and  his  friend  both 
stood  up.  Thrilled,  I  rose  hastily.  My 
eyes  were  too  busy  to  see  Tom's  face,  and  I 
did  not  realize  until  afterward  that  the  only 
other  woman  had  remained  coolly  seated. 

On  our  way  home,  Tom  told  me,  in  his 
gentle  way,  never  to  rise  from  a  dining  table 
to  acknowledge  an  introduction  even  to  a 
woman  —  or  a  senator.  That  night  a  tor- 
menting devil  with  the  face  of  the  other 
woman  kept  me  awake.  For  the  first  time 
since  my  marriage  I  felt  homesick  for  the 
prairies. 

And  then  we  were  invited  to  visit  Tom's 

Aunt  Elizabeth  in  Boston   and  meet  the 

22 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


whole  family.  I  was  sick  with  dread.  I 
begged  Tom  to  tell  me  some  of  the  things 
I  should  and  should  not  do. 

"Be  your  own  sweet  self  and  they '11  love 
you,"  he  promised,  kissing  me.  He  meant 
it,  dear  soul;  but  I  knew  better. 

From  the  very  first  minute,  Tom's  Aunt 
Elizabeth  made  me  conscious  of  her  dis- 
approval. In  after  years  I  won  the  old 
lady's  affection  and  real  respect,  but  I 
never  spent  a  completely  happy  hour  in  her 
presence. 

The  night  we  arrived  she  gave  me  a 
formal  dinner.  Some  dozen  additional 
guests  dropped  in  later,  and  I  was  be- 
wildered by  new  faces  and  strange  names, 
Later  in  the  evening  I  noticed  a  distin- 
guished-looking middle-aged  gentleman 
standing  alone  just  outside  the  drawing- 
room  door.  Hurrying  out,  I  invited  him  to 
come  in.  He  inquired  courteously  if  there 
was  anything  he  could  do  for  me. 
23 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


"  Yes,  indeed,"  I  assured  him.  "  Come  in 
and  talk  to  me." 

He  looked  shy  and  surprised.    I  insisted. 

Then  Tom's  aunt  called  me  and,  drawing 
me  hastily  into  a  corner,  demanded  why  I 
was  inviting  a  servant  into  her  drawing- 
room. 

"  Servant !  He  looks  like  a  senator,"  I 
protested.  "  He 's  dressed  exactly  like  every 
other  man  at  the  party  and  he  looks  twice  as 
important  as  most  of  them." 

"Didn't  you  notice  he  addressed  you  as 
'Madam'?"  pursued  Aunt  Elizabeth. 

"  But  it 's  perfectly  proper  to  call  a  mar- 
ried woman  'Madam.'  Foreigners  always 
do,"  I  defended. 

"Can't  you  tell  a  servant  when  you  see 
one?"  inquired  the  old  lady  icily. 

I  begged  to  know  how  one  could.  All 
Boston  was  summed  up  in  her  answer: 
"You  are  supposed  to  know  the  other 
people." 

24 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


Tom's  wife  could  have  drowned  in  a 
thimble. 

The  third  day  of  our  visit,  we  were  at  the 
dinner  table,  when  I  saw  Aunt  Elizabeth's 
face  change  —  for  the  worse.  Her  head 
went  up  higher  and  her  upper  lip  drew 
longer.    Finally  she  turned  to  me. 

"  Why  do  you  cut  your  meat  like  a  dog's 
dinner?"  she  snapped. 

Tom's  protesting  exclamation  did  not 
stop  her. 

I  laid  my  knife  and  fork  on  my  plate  and 
folded  my  hands  in  my  lap  to  hide  their 
trembling. 

Time  may  dim  many  hurts,  but  with  the 
last  flicker  of  intelligence  I  shall  remember 
that  scene.  Even  then,  in  a  flash,  I  saw  the 
symbolism  of  it. 

On  one  side  —  rare  mahogany,  shining 
silver,  deft  servants,  napkins  to  rumple, 
leisure  for  the  niceties  of  life.  On  the  other 
25 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


hand —  a  log  cabin,  my  tired  mother  with 
new  babies  always  coming,  father  slaving  to 
homestead  a  claim  and  push  civilization  a 
little  farther  over  our  American  continent. 

A  great  tenderness  for  my  parents  filled 
my  heart  and  overflowed  in  my  eyes.  I 
have,  I  confess,  had  moments  of  bitterness 
toward  them.  But  that  was  not  one  of 
them. 

"  I  think  I  can  tell  you,"  I  answered,  as 
quietly  as  I  could.  "  It 's  very  simple.  I 
was  the  first  baby,  and  mother  cut  up  my 
food  for  me.  After  a  while  she  cut  up  food 
for  two  babies.  By  the  time  the  third  came, 
I  had  to  do  my  own  cutting.  Naturally,  I 
did  it  just  as  mother  had.  Then  I  began  to 
help  cut  up  food  for  the  other  babies.  It 's 
a  baby  habit.  And  I  must  now  learn  to  cut 
one  bite  at  a  time  like  a  civilized  grown 
person." 

Even  Aunt  Elizabeth  was  silenced.  But 
Tom  rose  from  the  table,  swearing.  My 
26 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


father  would  not  have  permitted  a  cow- 
puncher  to  use  such  language  before  my 
mother.    But  I  loved  Tom  for  it. 

However,  I  did  not  sleep  that  night. 

Next  morning  Tom's  Aunt  Elizabeth 
apologized,  and  for  Back  Bay  was  really 
unbending. 

Some  days  later  we  returned  to  New 
York,  and  I  thought  my  troubles  were  over 
for  a  time.  But  the  first  night  Tom  came 
home  full  of  excitement.  He  had  been  ap- 
pointed to  the  diplomatic  corps,  and  we 
were  to  sail  for  England  within  a  month! 

The  news  struck  chill  terror  to  my  heart. 
With  so  much  still  to  learn  in  my  native 
America,  what  on  earth  should  I  do  in  Eng- 
lish society? 


27 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


II 

MORE  than  two  months  passed  after 
the  night  my  husband  announced  his 
foreign  appointment  before  we  sailed  for 
England. 

I  planned  to  study  and  to  have  long 
talks  with  him  about  the  customs  of  fash- 
ionable and  diplomatic  Europe,  but  alas !  I 
reckoned  without  the  friends  and  pretended 
friends  who  claim  the  time  of  a  man  of 
Tom's  importance.  Besides,  he  and  I  had 
so  many  other  things  to  discuss. 

So  the  sailing  time  approached,  and  then 
he  announced  that  we  were  to  be  presented 
at  court!  I  was  thrilled  half  with  fear  and 
half  with  joy. 

I  remembered  from  my  reading  of  his- 
tory that  some  of  England's  kings  had  not 
spoken  English  and  that  French  had  been 
the  court  language.  I  visited  a  bookstore 
28 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


and  purchased  what  was  recommended  as 
an  easy  road  to  French,  and  spent  all  morn- 
ing learning  to  say/'  V orange  est  un  fruit." 
I  read  the  instructions  for  placing  the 
tongue  and  puckering  the  lips  and  repeated 
les  and  las  until  I  was  dizzy.  Then  I  looked 
through  our  bookcases  for  a  life  of  Ben- 
jamin Franklin.  I  knew  he  had  gone  to 
court  and  "played  with  queens." 

But  the  great  statesman-author-orator 
gave  me  no  guide  to  correct  form  or  English 
social  customs.  Instead  I  grew  so  inter- 
ested in  the  history  of  his  work  in  England 
and  France  and  in  his  inspiring  achievement 
in  obtaining  recognition  and  credit  for  the 
United  States  that  dinner  time  arrived  be- 
fore I  realized  I  had  not  discovered  what 
language  was  spoken  at  court,  nor  what 
one  talked  about,  nor  if  one  talked  at  all. 

Tom  roared  when  I  made  my  confession. 
With  his  boyish  good  humor  he  promised 
to  answer  all  my  questions  on  board  ship. 
29 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


So,  without  a  care  in  those  delicious  days 
that  followed,  I  wandered  down  Sixth  Av- 
enue to  New  York's  then  most  correct  shops, 
buying  clothes  and  clothes  and  clothes.  I 
bought  practical  and  impractical  gifts  for 
the  twins  back  in  Wisconsin  and  for  all  the 
family  and  those  good  friends  who  had 
helped  me  through  Madison. 

The  week  before  we  sailed  my  husband 
said,  out  of  a  clear  sky:  "Be  sure  you  have 
the  right  clothes,  Mary.  The  English  are  a 
conservative  lot."  Suddenly  I  was  con- 
scious again  that  I  did  not  know  the  essen- 
tial things  the  wife  of  a  diplomat  ought  to 
know — what  to  wear  and  when,  a  million 
and  one  tremendous  social  trifles. 

The  moment  our  magnificent  liner  left 
the  dock  I  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  Tom 
would  be  mine  for  two  whole  weeks,  and 
all  the  questions  I  had  saved  up  would  be 
answered.  That  evening  he  announced: 
30 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


"We  don't  dress  for  dinner  the  first  night 
out." 

"Dress  for  dinner?"  I  asked.  "What 
do  you  mean?" 

And  then  very  gently  he  gave  me  my 
first  lesson.  I  had  never  seen  anything 
bigger  than  a  ferry-boat.  How  could  I 
guess  that  even  on  an  ocean  liner  we  did 
not  leave  formality  behind?  The  "party 
dresses  ",  so  carefully  selected,  the  long,  rich 
velvet  cape  I  had  thought  outrageously  ex- 
travagant, and  the  satin  slippers  and  the 
suede  —  I  had  packed  them  all  carefully  in 
the  trunk  and  sent  them  to  the  hold  of  the 
ship.  But,  with  the  aid  of  a  little  cash,  the 
steward  finally  produced  my  treasure  trunk, 
and  thereafter  I  dressed  for  dinner. 

The  two  weeks  I  had  expected  my  hus- 
band to  give  me  held  no  quiet  hours.  There 
is  no  such  thing,  except  when  one  is  seasick, 
as  being  alone  aboard  a  ship.  Tom  was 
popular,  good  at  cards  and  deck  games,  al- 
31 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


ways  ready  to  play.  And  the  fourth  day  out 
I  was  too  ill  to  worry  about  the  customs  at 
the  Court  of  St.  James. 

It  was  not  until  just  before  we  reached 
England  that  I  began  to  feel  myself  again. 
I  stood  on  deck,  thrilled  with  the  tall  ships 
and  the  steamers,  the  fishing  smacks  and 
the  smaller  craft  in  Southampton  harbor. 

"What  will  be  the  first  thing  you  do  in 
London?''  somebody  asked  me. 

"  Go  to  Mayfair  to  find  the  home  of 
Becky  Sharp"  I  answered. 

Becky  Sharp  was  as  much  a  part  of  Eng- 
lish history  to  me  as  Henry  VIII  or  Anne 
Boleyn  or  William  the  Conqueror.  When 
my  husband  and  I  were  alone  he  said:  "I 
think  they  have  picked  out  No.  21  Curzon 
Street  as  the  house  where  Becky  Sharp  is 
supposed  to  have  lived.  But  what  a  funny 
thing  for  you  to  want  to  see  first!" 

I  remembered  what  old  Lord  Steyne  had 
said  to  Becky:  "  You  poor  little  earthen  pip- 
32 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


kin.  You  want  to  swim  down  the  stream 
with  great  copper  kettles.  All  women  are 
alike.  Everybody  is  striving  for  what  is 
not  worth  the  having." 

I  was  quite  sure  I  did  not  want  to  drift 
down  the  stream  with  copper  kettles.  I 
only  wanted  to  be  with  Tom,  to  see  Eng- 
land with  him,  to  enjoy  Dr.  Johnson's 
haunts,  to  go  to  the  "  Cheddar  Cheese  "  and 
the  Strand,  to  Waterloo  Bridge,  and  down 
the  road  the  Romans  built  before  England 
was  England. 

I  wanted  to  see  the  world  without  the 
world  seeing  me.  In  my  heart  was  no  desire 
to  be  a  copper  kettle.  But  I  had  been  cast 
into  the  stream,  and  down  it  I  must  go, 
like  a  little  fungus  holding  to  the  biggest 
copper  kettle  I  knew. 

I  told  my  husband  this.    It  was  the  first 

time  he  had  been  really  irritated  with  me. 

"Why  do  you  worry  about  these  things?" 

he  protested.    "  You  have  a  good  head  and 

33 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


a  good  education.  You  are  the  loveliest 
woman  in  England.  Be  your  own  natural 
self  and  the  English  will  love  you."  But  I 
remembered  another  occasion  when  he  had 
told  me  to  be  my  own  natural  sweet  self. 

"How  about  what  happened  to  Becky?" 
I  asked. 

Tom  went  into  a  rage.  "Why  do  you 
insist  on  comparing  yourself  with  that  little 

! "   The  word  he  used  was  an  ugly  one. 

I  did  not  speak  to  him  again  until  after  we 
had  passed  the  government  inspectors. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  day  in 
London,  the  old,  quiet  city  where  every- 
body seemed  so  comfortable  and  easy-going. 
There  was  no  show,  no  pretense.  The  peo- 
ple in  the  shops  and  on  the  street  bore  the 
earmarks  of  thrift.  I  understood  where 
New  England  got  its  spirit. 

The    first    morning    at    the    Alexandra 
Hotel,   Tom   fell  naturally  into   the   Eu- 
34 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


ropean  habit  of  having  coffee  and  fruit  and 
a  roll  brought  to  his  bed.  I  wanted  to  go 
down  to  the  dining  room.  My  husband 
said  it  was  not  done  and  I  would  be  lone- 
some. The  days  of  ranch  life  had  taught  me 
to  get  up  with  the  chickens.  But  it  was 
not  done  in  London.  The  second  morning 
the  early  sun  was  too  much  for  me.  I 
dressed,  left  the  hotel,  and  walked  for  sev- 
eral hours  before  a  perfect  servant  brought 
shining  plates  and  marmalade,  fruit  and 
coffee  to  my  big  husky  football  player's 
bedside.  I  have  lived  many  years  in  Eu- 
rope, but  I  have  never  grown  used  to  having 
breakfast  brought  to  my  room. 

That  second  rainy  morning  Tom  left  me 
alone  with  the  promise  of  being  back  for 
luncheon.  I  picked  up  a  London  morning 
paper  and  glanced  at  the  personal  column. 
I  have  read  it  every  day  since  when  I  could 
get  hold  of  the  London  Times.  All  of  hu- 
man nature  and  the  ups  and  downs  of  man 
35 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


are  there,  from  secondhand  lace  to  the  mort- 
gaged jewels  of  broken-down  nobility,  from 
sporting  games  and  tickets  for  sale  to  rela- 
tives wanted,  and  those  mysterious,  sugges- 
.tive,  unsigned  messages  from  home  or  to 
home.  I  read  the  news  of  the  war.  We  in 
America  did  not  know  there  was  a  war. 
But  Greece  and  Crete  were  at  each  other's 
throats,  and  Turkey  was  standing  waiting 
to  crowd  the  little  ancient  nation  into  Ar- 
menia or  off  the  map.  There  was  the  Indian 
famine —  We  did  not  talk  about  it  at  home, 
but  it  had  first  place  in  the  London  paper. 
And  the  Queen's  birthday,  —  it  was  to  be 
celebrated  by  feeding  the  poor  of  East 
London  and  paying  the  debts  of  the  hos- 
pitals. There  was  something  so  humane, 
so  kindly,  so  civilized  about  it  all !  "  I  love 
England,"  I  said,  and  that  first  impression 
balanced  the  scale  many  a  time  later  when 
I  did  not  love  her. 


36 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


The  third  or  fourth  day  brought  an  in- 
vitation to  dine  at  a  famous  house  on  Gros- 
venor  Square  —  with  a  duke! 

I  pestered  my  husband  with  questions. 
What  should  I  wear?  What  should  I  talk 
about?    He  just  laughed. 

The  paper  had  reported  a  "  levee  ordered 
by  the  queen",  describing  the  gowns  and 
jewels  worn  by  the  ladies. 

I  had  little  jewelry  —  a  diamond  ring, 
which  Tom  gave  me  before  we  were  married, 
a  bracelet,  two  brooches,  and  a  string  of 
gold  beads,  which  were  fashionable  in  Amer- 
ica. I  put  them  all  on  with  my  best  bib 
and  tucker.  When  we  were  dressed,  Tom 
gave  me  one  look  and  said,  "Why  do  you 
wear  all  that  junk?"  I  took  off  one  of  the 
brooches  and  the  string  of  gold  beads. 

When  our  carriage  drew  up  to  the 
house  on  Grosvenor  Square,  liveried  ser- 
vants stood  at  each  side  of  the  door,  liveried 
servants  guided  us  inside.  There  was  a  gold 
37 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


carpet,  paintings  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
in  gorgeous  attire,  and  murals  and  tapes- 
tries in  the  marble  halls.  But  I  quickly  for- 
got all  of  this  grandeur  listening  to  the 
names  of  guests  being  called  off  as  they 
entered  the  drawing-room:  Mr.  Gladstone 
and  Mrs.  Gladstone,  Lord  Rosebery  and 
the  Marquis  of  Salisbury,  Mrs.  Humphry 
Ward,  looking  fatter  and  older  than  I  had 
expected,  officers,  colonels,  viscounts,  and 
ladies,  and  then  Tom  and  Mary  —  but  they 
were  not  called  off  that  way. 

I  wanted  to  meet  Mr.  Gladstone,  and 
hoped  I  might  even  be  near  him  at  dinner; 
but  I  sat  between  a  colonel  and  a  young 
captain  of  the  Scots  Greys. 

Mr.  Gladstone  was  on  the  other  side  of 
the  table.  It  was  a  huge  table,  more  than 
five  feet  wide  and  very  long.  My  husband 
was  somewhere  out  of  sight  at  the  other  end. 
Mr.  Gladstone  mentioned  the  fund  being 
88 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


raised  for  the  victims  of  the  Paris  Opera 
Comique  fire.  It  is  good  form  to  be  silent  in 
the  presence  of  death,  especially  when  death 
is  colossal,  and  the  English  never  fail  to 
follow  good  form.  There  was  a  sudden  lull 
at  our  end  of  the  table. 

It  was  I  who  broke  that  silence.  I  was 
touched  by  the  generosity  of  England,  and 
said  so.  Since  my  arrival  I  had  daily  noted 
that  England  was  giving  to  India,  sending 
relief  to  Greece  and  Armenia,  raising  a  fund 
for  the  fire  sufferers,  and  celebrating  the 
Queen's  Jubilee  by  feeding  the  poor.  I  ad- 
dressed my  look  and  my  admiring  words  to 
Mr.  Gladstone. 

Either  my  sincerity  or  the  embarrassment 
he  knew  would  follow  my  disregard  of  "  the 
thing  that  is  done  "  moved  Mr.  Gladstone's 
sympathy.  He  smiled  across  the  table  at 
me  and  answered,  "I  am  so  glad  you  see 
these  good  points  of  England."  It  was 
about  the  most  gracious  thing  that  was  ever 
39 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


done  to  me  in  my  life.  In  England  it  is 
bad  form  to  speak  across  the  table.  One 
speaks  to  one's  neighbor  on  the  right  or  to 
one's  neighbor  on  the  left;  but  the  line 
across  the  table  is  foreign  soil  and  must  not 
be  shouted  across. 

That  night  my  husband  said :  "I  forgot 
to  tell  you.  They  never  talk  across  the  table 
in  England."  I  chided  him,  and  with  some 
cause.  I  had  soon  discovered  that  in  Eng- 
land, as  in  America,  it  was  not  enough  to 
be  "  my  own  natural  self." 

But  I  came  to  love  Mr.  Gladstone.  Long 
after  that  I  told  him  the  story  of  Mrs. 
Grant,  who,  when  an  awkward  young  man 
had  broken  one  of  her  priceless  Sevres  after- 
dinner  coffee  cups,  dropped  hers  on  the 
floor  to  meet  him  on  the  same  level.  "  Any 
woman  who,  to  put  any  one  at  ease,  will 
break  a  priceless  Sevres  cup  is  heroic,"  I 
said.  His  answer,  though  flippant,  was 
pleasant:  "Any  mp.  who  would  not  smile 
40 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


across  the  table  at  a  lovely  woman  is  a 
fool." 

Mr.  Gladstone  always  wore  a  flower  in 
his  button-hole,  a  big,  loose  collar  that  never 
fitted,  a  floppy  black  necktie,  and  trousers 
that  needed  a  valet's  attention.  He  was  the 
greatest  combination  of  propriety  and  utter 
disregard  of  conventions  I  had  ever  seen. 

The  event  next  in  importance  to  a  pres- 
entation at  court  was  a  tea  at  which  the 
tea  planter  Sir  Thomas  Lipton  was  one  of 
the  guests.  He  was  not  Sir  Thomas  then, 
but  was  very  much  in  the  limelight,  having 
contributed  twenty-five  thousand  pounds  to 
the  fund  collected  by  the  Princess  of  Wales 
to  feed  the  poor  of  London  in  commemora- 
tion of  Queen  Victoria's  Diamond  Jubilee. 

The  Earl  of  Lathom,  then  the  Lord 
Chamberlain,  who  looked  like  Santa  Claus 
and  smiled  like  Andrew  Carnegie,  was 
among  the  guests;  so  were  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gladstone.  Since  the  night  he  had  talked 
41 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


to  me  across  the  table  I  always  felt  that 
Mr.  Gladstone  was  my  best  friend  in  Eng- 
land. He  had  a  sense  of  humor,  so  I  said: 
"  Is  there  anything  pointed  in  asking  the 
tea  king  to  a  tea?"  That  amused  Glad- 
stone. He  could  not  forgive  Lipton  parting 
his  hair  in  the  middle. 

That  night  I  repeated  my  joke  to  Tom. 
Instead  of  smiling,  he  said:  "That's  not 
the  way  to  get  on  in  England.  It's  too 
Becky  Sharpish" 

And  then  came  the  day  of  the  queen's  salon. 
Victoria  did  not  often  have  audiences,  the 
Prince  of  Wales  or  some  other  member 
of  the  royal  family  usually  holding  levees 
and  receiving  presentations  in  her  name. 

Tom  had  warned  me  that  there  were  cer- 
tain clothes  to  be  worn  at  a  presentation. 
I  asked  one  of  my  American  friends  at  the 
embassy,  who  directed  me  to  a  hairdresser  — 
the  most  important  thing,  it  seemed,  being 
42 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


one's  head.  She  told  me  also  to  wear  full 
evening  dress,  with  long  white  gloves,  and 
to  remove  the  glove  of  the  right  hand. 

The  hairdresser  asked  about  my  jewels. 
Remembering  what  Tom  had  said  about 
"  junk  ",  I  said  I  would  wear  no  jewels.  She 
was  horrified.  I  would  have  to  wear  some, 
she  insisted,  if  only  a  necklace  of  pearls.  She 
tactfully  suggested  that  if  my  jewels  had 
not  arrived  I  could  rent  them  from  Mr. 
Somebody  on.  the  Strand.  It  was  fre- 
quently done,  she  said,  by  foreigners. 

My  friend  at  the  embassy  was  politely 
surprised  that  Tom's  wife  would  think  of 
renting  real  or  imitation  jewels.  In  the  end 
I  insisted  upon  going  without  jewels.  I 
had  the  required  plumes  in  my  hair,  and  the 
veil  that  was  correct  form  at  court,  and  my 
lovely  evening  gown  and  pearl-embroidered 
slippers,  which  were  to  me  like  Cinderella's 
at  the  ball. 

Before  I  left  the  hotel  I  asked  Tom  to 
43 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


look  at  me  critically.  I  was  still  young — 
very  young,  very  much  in  love,  and  unac- 
quainted with  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  so 
heaven  came  down  into  my  heart  when  Tom 
took  me  into  his  arms  and,  kissing  me,  said : 
"There  was  never  such  a  lovely  queen." 

It  was  about  three  o'clock  when  we 
reached  the  Pimlico  entrance.  Guards  were 
on  duty,  and  men  who  looked  like  princes  or 
very  important  personages  in  costume, 
white  stockings,  black  pumps,  buckles, 
breeches,  and  gay  coats,  stood  at  the  door. 
Inside  the  hall  a  gold  carpet  stretched  to 
the  marble  stairs.  It  was  a  wonderful  place, 
and  I  wanted  to  stop  and  look.  I  was  con- 
scious of  being  a  "rubber-neck."  I  might 
never  see  another  palace  again. 

We  were  guided  up  wonderful  stairs  and 
led  into  a  sumptuous  room,  where,  with  the 
other  guests,  we  waited  for  the  arrival  of 
the  queen  and  the  royal  family.  No  one 
does  anything  or  says  anything  at  a  salon. 
44 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


A  "  drawing-room  "  is  a  sacred  rite  in  Eng- 
land. It  is  recorded  on  the  first  page  of 
the  news,  taking  precedence  over  wars, 
decisions  of  supreme  courts,  famines,  and 
international  controversies.  Her  Majesty 
receives.  To  the  Englishman,  to  be  pre- 
sented at  court  is  to  be  set  up  in  England 
as  class,  to  be  worshiped  by  those  who  have 
not  been  in  the  presence  of  the  queen,  and 
to  pay  a  little  more  to  the  butcher  and 
milliner. 

I  should  have  loved  that  "  drawing-room  " 
if  I  could  have  avoided  the  presentation.  It 
was  an  impressive  picture  —  the  queen  with 
a  face  like  a  royal  coin,  a  fine,  generous  fore- 
head and  beautiful  nose,  her  intelligent  and 
kindly  eyes,  her  ample  figure,  her  dignity 
come  from  long,  long  years  of  rule.  Back 
of  her  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  the  Prime 
Minister,  who  in  later  years  I  found  myself 
always  comparing  to  little  Mr.  Carnegie,  the 
Viscount  Curzon  with  his  royal  look,  and 
45 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


in  the  foreground  Sir  S.  Ponsonby-Fane, 
in  white  silk  stockings,  pumps  and  buckles, 
with  sword  and  gold  lace,  and  high-collared 
swallow-tailed  coat.  I  admired  the  queen's 
black  moire  dress,  her  headdress  of  priceless 
lace,  her  diamonds,  her  high-necked  dress 
held  together  with  more  diamonds,  and  her 
black  gloves,  in  striking  contrast  to  our  own. 
I  was  enjoying  the  picture. 
Then  my  name  was  called. 

I  had  been  thinking  such  kindly  things  of 
England  —  Mr.  Balfour  fighting  for  gen- 
eral education;  Mr.  Gladstone  struggling 
to  make  England  push  Turkey  back  and 
save  Greece ;  all  England  raising  money  for 
the  fire  sufferers  of  Paris  and  the  Indian 
famine.  What  a  humanitarian  race  they 
were!  I  felt  as  pro-England  as  any  of  the 
satellites  in  that  room,  and  almost  as  much 
awed.  But  back  of  it  all  was  a  natural 
United  States  be-natural-as-you-were-born 

46 


As  I  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  queen,  I  held  out 
iriy  hand.     Page  47. 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


impulse.  Neither  Back  Bay  Boston  nor 
Tom's  Philadelphia  friends  had  been  able  to 
repress  it.  When  my  name  was  called  and 
I  stepped  up,  I  made  the  little  bow  I  had 
practised  for  hours  the  day  before  and  that 
morning;  and  then,  as  I  looked  into  the 
eyes  of  the  queen,  I  held  out  my  hand!  It 
was  the  instinctive  action  of  a  free-born 
American. 

I  have  realized  in  the  years  since  what  a 
real  queen  she  was.  Smiling,  she  extended 
her  hand  —  but  not  to  be  touched.  It  was  a 
little  wave,  a  little  imitation  of  my  own  im- 
plusive  outstretching  to  a  friend;  then  her 
eyes  went  to  the  next  person,  and  I  was 
on  my  way,  having  been  presented  at  court 
and  done  what  "is  not  done"  in  England. 

Tom's  mission  in  England  was  impor- 
tant. He  had  friends,  and  there  were  dis- 
tinguished people  in  England  who  regarded 
him  and  his  family  of  sufficient  value  to 
"take  us  aboard."  They  were  most  gra- 
47 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


cious  and  kindly.  But  Tom's  eyes  were  not 
smiling. 

That  night  my  husband  said  some  very 
frank  things  to  me.  His  position,  and  even 
the  credit  of  our  country  to  some  extent, 
depended  upon  our  conduct.  He  did  not 
say  he  was  ashamed  of  me,  and  in  my  heart 
I  do  not  think  he  was ;  but  he  regretted  that 
I  had  not  been  trained  in  the  little  things 
upon  which  England  put  so  much  weight. 
He  suggested  my  employing  a  social  sec- 
retary. 

"What  I  need,  Tom,"  I  said,  "is  a 
teacher.  You  have  told  me  these  customs 
are  not  important.  They  are  important.  I 
need  some  one  to  teach  them  to  me,  and 
I  propose  to  get  a  teacher." 

In  the  personal  columns  of  the  Times  I 
had  read  this  advertisement: 

A  lady  of  aristocratic  birth  and  social  training 
desires  to  be  of  service  to  a  good-paying  guest. 

I  swallowed  my  pride  and  answered  it. 
48 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


I  was  not  her  paying  guest,  but  I  em- 
ployed this  Scotch  lady  of  aristocratic  birth 
and  social  experience. 

On  the  first  day  at  luncheon,  which  we 
ate  privately  in  my  apartment,  she  said: 
"  In  England  a  knife  is  held  as  you  hold  a 
pen,  the  handle  coming  up  above  the  thumb 
and  between  the  thumb  and  first  finger." 
My  sense  of  humor  permitted  me  to  ask, 
after  trying  it  once,  "  What  do  you  do  when 
the  meat  is  tough?"  The  Scotch  aristocrat 
never  smiled.    "  It  isn't,"  she  answered. 

I  was  humiliated  and  a  little  soul-sick  be- 
fore that  luncheon  ended.  I  had  been  told 
to  break  each  bite  of  my  bread ;  a  lady  never 
bites  a  piece  of  bread.  I  had  been  told  to 
use  a  knife  to  separate  my  fish,  when  I  had 
learned,  oh,  so  carefully,  in  America  to  eat 
fish  with  a  fork  and  a  piece  of  bread.  I 
might  have  laughed  about  it  all  had  not  so 
much  been  at  stake,  even  Tom's  respect. 


49 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


III 

THE  Scotch  lady  of  aristocratic  birth 
and  social  experience  lived  with  me  one 
terrible  week.  On  the  seventh  day  I  came 
home  from  shopping  with  presents  for  the 
twins  back  in  Wisconsin.  A  day  or  so 
earlier,  while  my  mentor  was  out  of  the 
room,  I  had  asked  the  chef  waiter  of  our 
floor  about  himself  and  his  family,  and 
found  that  his  family  too  included  twins. 
So  with  the  present  for  my  family  I  also 
brought  some  for  his. 

Mr.  MacLeod,  the  member  of  Parliament 
from  Scotland,  and  Lord  Lansdowne  hap- 
pened to  be  calling  when  I  arrived,  and 
Tom  and  the  Scotch  lady  were  there.  The 
chef  waiter  was  taking  the  coats  of  the  gen- 
tlemen callers.  I  received  the  guests,  ac> 
knowledged  the  introductions,  and  then,  as 
I  removed  my  own  coat,  I  handed  him  the 
little  package. 

50 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


When  we  were  alone  the  Scotch  lady 
turned  to  me.  "In  England,"  she  said, 
"ladies  never  converse  with  their  servants, 
particularly  in  the  presence  of  guests." 

Then  she  sealed  her  doom.  "  Ladies 
never  make  gifts  to  their  servants,"  she 
added.  "  Their  secretaries,  housekeepers, 
or  companions  disburse  their  bounty." 

I  remembered  the  old  U.  S.  A.  An 
American  chef  waiter  might  hope  to  be  the 
father  of  a  President.  On  the  ranch  I  had 
cooked  for  men  of  less  education  and  much 
worse  manners  than  this  domestic  who 
brought  my  athletic  husband's  breakfast  to 
his  bedside  and  who  happened  to  be  the 
proud  father  of  twins. 

I  would  learn  table  manners  from 
an  English  lady  of  aristocratic  birth  and 
social  experience;  but  when  it  came  to 
the  human  act  of  a  little  gift  to  a  faithful 
servant,  I  declared  my  American  independ- 
ence. 

51 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


I  was  homesick  for  Wisconsin,  homesick 
for  real  and  simple  people.  I  wanted  to  go 
home! 

That  night  Tom  and  I  had  our  first  real 
quarrel,  and  it  was  over  my  dismissal  of 
the  Scotch  lady  of  aristocratic  birth. 

Life  became  intolerable  for  a  while.  I 
dragged  through  days  of  bitter  homesick- 
ness. Nothing  seemed  real.  No  one  seemed 
sincere.  Life  was  a  stage.  Everybody 
seemed  to  be  acting  a  part  and  speak- 
ing their  pieces  with  guttural  voices.  Even 
my  husband's  voice  sounded  different  —  or 
else  I  realized  for  the  first  time  that  Boston 
apes  London  English.  Tom  had  learned 
his  mother  tongue  in  Boston,  and  now 
suddenly  he  seemed  like  a  foreigner  to 
me  simply  because  he  spoke  like  these 
other  foreigners.  The  sun  went  out  of  my 
heaven.  I  was  dumb  with  loneliness  and 
sick  with  the  fear  of  lost  faith.  Could  it  be 
that  my  husband  was  affecting  these  Eng- 
52 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


lish  mannerisms?  Certainly  he  seemed  at 
home  in  England,  while  I  seemed  to  be 
adrift,  alone  in  an  arctic  ocean. 

I  had  no  friend  in  England,  and  more 
and  more  my  husband's  special  work  was 
engrossing  him.  When  we  were  together 
I  felt  tongue-tied.  He  had  tried  to  be  gentle 
with  me;  but  I  was  strange  in  this  world  of 
his,  and  lonely  and  sensitive.  I  had  dreamed 
so  much  of  this  world,  and  now  that  I  was 
in  it,  it  was  false  and  petty.  I  longed  for 
the  United  States,  for  my  Northwest,  for 
my  hills  and  wide,  far  plains.  I  wanted  to 
meet  somebody  from  Madison  who  smiled 
like  a  friend. 

One  day  Tom  looked  at  me  searchingly, 
and  said  I  must  be  ill. 

I  confessed  to  a  little  homesickness.  Tom 
became  very  attentive.  He  took  me  sight- 
seeing. We  lunched  at  the  quaint  inn  where 
Dickens  found  his  inspiration  for  "Pick- 
wick Papers  "  and  where  the  literary  lights 
53 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


of  London  foregathered  and  still  foregather 
for  luncheon.  We  sat  in  one  of  the  cozy 
little  stalls  —  just  Tom  and  I. 

Suddenly  it  swept  over  me  that  life  had 
gone  all  wrong.  Here  was  a  dream  come 
true,  and  no  joy  in  my  heart.  Tom  asked 
me  for  my  thoughts.  I  told  him,  quite 
frankly,  I  was  thinking  of  home.  I  was 
thinking  of  mother  in  her  cotton  house  dress 
with  her  knitted  shawl  around  her  shoulders, 
of  father  in  his  jeans  and  high  boots  tramp- 
ing over  the  range  with  the  men;  I  saw  the 
cow  and  the  pigs  and  the  chickens,  the 
smelly  corral  and  the  water  hole,  the  twins 
trying  to  rub  each  other's  face  in  the  mud. 
And  I  was  thinking — Tom  wouldn't  fit 
into  my  world,  and  I  could  not  belong  to 
his.  That  was  the  second  time  I  heard  Tom 
swear.     He  wanted  to  know  what  kind  of 

a snob  I  thought  he  was.    He  'd  be  as 

much  at  home  with  dad  on  the  ranch  as  he 
was  in  London.    "The  fault  is  with  you," 

54 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


he  said.  "  You  're  not  adaptable,  and  you 
don't  try  to  be." 

Tom  didn't  understand.  He  never  did. 
In  all  the  years  together,  which  he  made  so 
rich  and  happy,  Tom  never  understood  how 
hard  and  bitter  a  school  was  that  first  year 
of  my  married  life. 

But  Tom  did  try  to  give  me  a  good  time 
in  London.  He  took  me  to  interesting 
places  and  we  were  entertained  by  a  number 
of  people,  mostly  ponderous  and  stupid. 
Tom  did  not  suggest  that  we  entertain  in 
our  turn.  I  think  he  felt  I  was  not  ready 
for  it,  although  even  in  after  years,  when  we 
talked  frankly  about  many  things,  he  would 
never  admit  this. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  week-end 
party  in  England.  I  was  not  well,  and 
Tom,  manlike,  felt  sure  the  change,  a  trip 
down  to  Essex  and  new  people,  would  do 
me  good.  The  thought  of  the  country  and 
a  visit  with  some  good  simple  country  folk 
55 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


appealed  to  me  too,  so  I  packed  the  bags 
and  met  Tom  at  Victoria  Station  at  eleven 
o'clock.  Alas !  It  is  a  far  cry  from  a  Mon- 
tana ranch  to  a  gentleman's  estate  in  Eng- 
land! My  vision  of  a  quiet  visit  "down  on 
a  farm"  vanished  the  minute  we  stepped 
off  the  train.  Liveried  coachmen  collected 
our  baggage.  They  seemed  to  be  discussing 
something;  then  I  heard  Tom  say:  "  I  guess 
that 's  all.    I  '11  wire  back  for  the  rest  of  it." 

We  were  led  to  a  handsome  cart  drawn  by 
a  fine  tandem  team,  and  Tom  and  I  were 
alone  for  a  minute. 

"  My  God,  Mary ! "  he  burst  out,  "  didn't 
you  bring  any  clothes  for  us?" 

"  I  certainly  have,"  I  retorted,  sure  I  was 
in  the  right  this  time.  "Your  nightshirt 
and  my  nightgown;  your  toilet  articles  and 
mine;  a  change  of  underclothes;  a  clean 
shirt  and  two  collars  for  you,  and  my  new 
striped  silk  waist." 

56 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


I  shall  never  forget  Tom's  expression. 

"Do  you  know  where  we  are  going?"  he 
groaned.  "  To  one  of  the  grandest  houses 
in  England!  Oh,  Lord!  I  ought  to  have 
told  you.  You'll  need  all  the  clothes  you 
have  down  here.  And — and  a  valet  and 
maid  will  unpack  the  bags  —  oh,  hell ! " 
After  more  of  the  same  kind  of  talk,  he 
began  to  cook  up  some  yarn  to  tell  the  valet. 

Suddenly  all  that  is  free-born  in  me  rose 
to  the  surface. 

"Is  it  the  thing  for  gentlemen  to  be 
afraid  of  the  valet?"  I  asked  my  husband. 
"  Does  a  servant  regulate  your  life  and  set 
your  standards?" 

Tom  was  quiet  for  several  moments ;  then 
he  took  my  hand  and  said  very  earnestly: 
"  Mary,  don't  you  ever  lose  your  respect  for 
the  real  things.  It  will  save  both  of  us." 
After  a  while  he  added:  "Just  the  same, 
I  '11  have  to  lie  out  of  this  baggage  hole." 

He  did,  in  a  very  casual,  laughing  way  — 
57 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


such  a  positive  set  of  lies  that  I  marveled 
and  began  to  wonder  how  much  of  Tom  was 
acting  and  how  much  was  real. 

Tom  went  back  to  London  on  the  next 
train,  and  reached  the  "farm"  with  our 
baggage  before  it  was  time  to  dress  for  the 
eight-o'clock  dinner. 

The  dinner  was  long  and  stupid.  After 
dinner  the  women  went  into  the  drawing- 
room  and  gossiped  about  politics  and  per- 
sonalities until  the  men  joined  them,  when 
they  sat  down  to  cards.  I  did  not  know  how 
to  play  cards,  and  so  was  left  with  a  garru- 
lous old  woman  who  had  eaten  and  drunk 
over-much. 

It  had  been  a  long  day  for  me.  I  was  ill 
and  tired.  Suddenly  sleep  began  to  over- 
power me.  I  batted  my  eyes  to  keep  them 
open.  I  tried  looking  at  the  crystal  lights, 
but  my  leaden  eyes  could  not  face  them. 
The  constant  drone  of  that  old  woman  was 
58 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


putting  me  to  sleep.  I  tried  to  say  a  few 
words  now  and  then  to  wake  myself.  I  felt 
myself  slipping.  Once  my  head  dropped 
and  came  up  with  a  jerk.  I  watched  the 
great  French  clock.  Its  hands  did  not  seem 
to  move.  I  looked  at  Tom.  He  was  ab- 
sorbed in  his  game.  I  could  not  endure  it 
another  minute.  I  went  over  and  said  good 
night  to  my  hostess  who  had  spoken  to  me 
only  once  since  my  arrival. 

Drowsy  as  I  was,  I  noticed  she  seemed 
surprised.  "  Oh,  no,"  I  told  her;  "  I  am  not 
ill,  only  very  sleepy." 

How  good  my  pillow  felt! 

The  next  morning  Tom  was  cross.  I  had 
made  a  fau^c  pas.  I  had  shown  I  was  bored 
and  peeved  and  had  gone  to  bed  before 
the  hostess  indicated  it  was  bedtime.  It 
"  was  n't  done  "  in  England. 

"What  do  you  do  if  you  can't  keep 
awake?"  I  asked. 

"You  slip  out  quietly,  go  to  your  room 
59 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


ask  a  maid  to  call  you  after  you  have  had 
forty  winks,  then  you  go  back  and  pretend 
you  are  having  a  good  time,"  said  Tom. 

There  were  some  bitter  hours  after  we  got 
back  to  London.  But  Tom  won,  and  I 
promised  to  get  a  companion.  Then  there 
came  into  my  life  the  most  wonderful 
of  friends.  She  was  the  widow  of  a  Brit- 
ish Army  officer  who  had  been  killed  in 
India,  and  her  only  child  was  dead.  She 
was  a  woman  of  education  and  heart;  she 
understood  my  needs,  all  of  them,  and  I  in- 
terested her.  She  had  seen  great  suffering; 
she  had  a  deep  feeling  for  humanity  and  an 
honest  desire  to  be  of  use  in  the  world.  In 
the  English  register  my  companion  was 
listed  as  the  Honorable  Evelyn,  but  we 
quickly  got  down  to  Mary  and  Eve.  We 
loved  each  other.  Eve  went  to  France  with 
us  a  few  months  later.  She  made  me  talk 
French  with  her. 

My  first  formal  dinner  in  France  was  a 
60 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


pleasant  surprise.  It  was  like  a  great  family 
party  —  not  dull  and  quiet  like  the  English 
dinner,  and  ever  so  much  more  fun.  Every- 
body participated.  If  there  was  one  lion  at 
the  table,  everybody  shared  him. 

There  is  something  in  being  born  on  a 
silken  couch.  Nothing  surprises  you.  You 
are  at  ease  anywhere  in  the  world.  Eve 
fitted  into  Paris  as  naturally  as  in  her  native 
London.  I  began  to  feel  at  home  there  my- 
self. It  was  a  city  of  happy  people  —  care 
free,  natural,  sympathetic.  There  was  a 
lack  of  restraint  which,  after  the  oppressive 
dignity  of  London,  was  a  rare  treat.  No 
one  was  critical.  Every  one  accepted  my 
halting  and  faulty  French  without  ridicule 
or  condescension.  The  amiability  and  the 
friendliness  of  the  French  people  thawed 
my  heart  and  began  to  lift  me  out  of  my 
slough  of  homesickness.  Happiness  came 
back  to  me. 

61 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


There  had  been  hours  in  England  when 
only  the  knowledge  that  a  woman's  rarest 
gift  was  coming  to  me,  and  that  Tom  was 
proud  and  happy  about  it,  kept  me  from 
running  away  —  back  to  the  simple  life  of 
my  own  United  States. 

I  was  homesick  for  mother.  Babies  were  a 
mystery  to  me,  although  I  had  helped 
mother  with  all  of  hers.  We  had  buried 
three  of  them  in  homemade  coffins  —  pio- 
neering is  a  ruthless  scythe,  and  only  the  fit 
survive.  I  began  to  understand  my  mother 
and  the  glory  in  the  character  which  never 
faltered,  although  she  was  alone  and  life 
had  been  hard.  How  could  I  whine  when  I 
had  Tom  and  a  good  friend  —  and  life  was 
like  a  playground? 

I  loved  the  French.  They  regard  life 
with  a  frankness  which  sometimes  shocked 
my  reserved  Boston  husband.  He  never 
accepted  intimacy.     The  restraint  of  old 

62 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


England  was  still  in  his  blood.  The  free 
winds  of  the  prairie  had  swept  it  from 
mine. 

My  new  friends  in  Paris  discovered  my 
happy  secret.  It  was  my  all-absorbing 
thought,  and  I  was  delighted  to  be  able  to 
discuss  it  frankly.  Motherhood  is  the  great 
and  natural  event  in  the  life  of  a  woman  in 
France,  and  no  one  makes  a  secret  of  it. 
I  was  very  happy  in  Paris.  And  then  — 
Tom  had  to  go  to  Vienna. 

Not  even  Tom,  Eve,  and  the  promised 
baby  could  make  me  happy  there. 

In  all  the  world  I  had  seen  no  place 
where  the  line  of  class  distinction  was  so 
closely  drawn,  where  social  customs  were  so 
rigid  and  court  forms  so  sacred,  as  at  the 
Austrian  capital.  Learning  the  social  cus- 
toms of  Vienna  seemed  as  endless  as  count- 
ing the  pebbles  on  the  beach  —  and  about 
as  useful.  The  clock  regulated  our  habits 
in  Vienna.  Up  to  eleven  o'clock  certain 
63 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


attire  was  proper.  If  your  watch  stopped 
you  were  sure  to  break  a  social  law.  I  once 
saw  a  distinguished  diplomat  in  distress  be- 
cause he  found  himself  at  an  official  func- 
tion at  eleven- thirty  with  a  black  tie  —  or 
without  one,  I  have  forgotten  which! 

At  first  it  offended  me  to  receive  an  in- 
vitation—  or  a  command  —  to  appear  at  a 
formal  function,  with  an  accompanying  slip 
telling  exactly  what  to  wear.  Then  I 
laughed  about  it. 

Finally  I  rebelled.  On  the  plea  of  ill 
health,  I  made  Tom  do  the  social  honors  for 
me,  while  Eve  and  I  did  the  museums  and 
the  galleries  and  the  music  fetes. 

Years  later  I  went  back  to  Vienna,  and  I 
did  not  discredit  my  country.  But  I  never 
loved  the  city.  I  enjoyed  its  art,  its  fas- 
cinating shops,  its  picturesque  streets  and 
people,  and  its  beautiful  women.  But  for 
me  Vienna  has  the  faults  of  France  and 
England,  the  poverty  and  arrogance  of 
64 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


London,  and  the  frivolity  of  Paris,  without 
their  redeeming  qualities. 

So  I  was  glad  to  return  to  England.  The 
second  day  in  London,  Tom  took  me  to  an 
exhibition  important  in  the  art  world,  or  at 
least  in  the  official  life  of  London.  Every- 
body who  was  somebody  was  there.  I  saw 
the  Princess  of  Wales  and  the  Marquis  of 
Salisbury,  who  was  then  Secretary  of  State 
for  Foreign  Affairs.  I  saw  Mr.  Balfour, 
so  handsome  and  gracious  that  I  refused  to 
believe  there  had  ever  been  cause  to  call  him 
"Bloody  Balfour."  There  was  something 
kingly  about  him  —  yet  he  was  simply  Mr. 
Balfour.  Years  afterward  I  realized  that 
to  know  Mr.  Balfour  is  either  to  worship 
him  or  hate  him.  No  one  takes  the  middle 
course. 

I  had  begun  to  have  a  beautiful  time  that 
afternoon.    I  felt  happy,  acutely  conscious 
of  my  blessings  and  of  one  coming  blessing 
65 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


in  particular.  Mr.  Gladstone  joined  us, 
and  Sir  Henry  Irving  came  over  to  speak 
to  Eve.  She  told  him  I  had  just  said  that 
England  had  a  mold  for  handsome  men. 
Irving  was  interesting  and  striking,  though 
certainly  not  handsome;  but  he  took  the 
compliment  to  himself,  smiled,  bowed  his 
thanks,  and  said: 

"And  America  for  beautiful  women." 

Mr.  Gladstone,  too,  could  indulge  in 
small  talk.  "  You  should  have  seen  her  rosy 
cheeks  before  she  went  to  the  Continent," 
he  said,  and  added  kindly  that  I  looked  very 
tired  and  should  go  down  to  Hawarden 
Castle  and  rest. 

"  Oh,"  I  explained  happily,  "  it  is  n't  that 
—  I  'm  not  tired.  It  is  such  a  happy  rea- 
son!" 

I  felt  Eve  gasp.  Mr.  Gladstone  opened 
his  kind  eyes  very  wide,  and  his  heavy  chin 
settled  down  in  his  collar. 

It  was  the  last  bad  break  I  made.  But 
66 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


it  was  a  blessing  to  me,  for  it  robbed  all 
social  form  of  terror.  For  the  first  time,  I 
realized  that  custom  is  merely  a  matter  of 
geography.  One  takes  off  one's  shoes  to 
enter  the  presence  of  the  ruler  of  Persia. 
One  wears  a  black  tie  until  eleven  o'clock 
in  Vienna  —  or  doesn't.  One  uses  fish 
knives  in  England  until  he  dines  with 
royalty — then  one  must  manage  with  a 
fork  and  a  piece  of  bread.  One  dresses  for 
dinner  always,  and  waits  for  the  hostess  to 
say  it  is  time,  and  speaks  only  to  one's 
neighbor  at  table.  In  France  one  guest 
speaks  to  any  or  all  of  the  others;  all  one's 
friends  extend  congratulations  if  a  baby  is 
coming;  one  shares  all  his  joys  with  friends. 
But  in  England  nobody  must  know,  and 
everybody  must  be  surprised.  No  one  ever 
speaks  of  himself  in  England.  They  are 
sensitive  about  everything  personal.  But 
there  is  an  underground  and  very  perfect 
system  by  which  everything  about  every- 
67 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


body  is  known  and  noised  about  and  dis- 
cussed with  everybody  except  the  person  in 
question.  It  is  a  mysterious  and  elaborate 
hypocrisy. 

With  the  aid  of  Eve,  I  made  a  thorough 
study  of  the  geography  of  social  customs. 
I  learned  the  ways  of  Europe,  of  the  Orient, 
and  of  South  America.  It  is  easier  to  un- 
derstand races  if  one  understands  the  psy- 
chology of  their  customs.  I  realized  that 
social  amenities  are  too  often  neglected  in 
America,  and  our  manners  sometimes  truth- 
fully called  crude.  But  I  told  myself  with 
pride  that  our  truly  cultivated  people  will 
not  tolerate  a  social  form  that  is  not  based 
on  human,  kindly  instincts. 

It  was  not  until  the  World  War  flooded 
Europe  with  American  boys  and  girls  that 
I  realized  the  glory  of  our  social  standards 
and  the  great  need  to  have  our  own  people 
understand  those  standards. 
68 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


IV 

FEAR  is  the  destroyer  of  peace.  I  knew 
no  peace  until  I  learned  not  to  be  afraid 
of  conventions.  The  three  most  wretched 
years  in  my  life  might  easily  have  been 
avoided  by  a  little  training  at  home  or  at 
school. 

I  realize  now  the  unhappiness  of  those 
first  years  of  my  married  life.  I  was  awk- 
ward and  ill  at  ease  in  a  world  that  valued 
social  poise  above  knowledge.  From  my 
childhood  I  had  loved  honest,  sincere  people. 
After  my  marriage  I  met  distinguished  men 
and  women,  even  a  few  who  might  be  called 
great;  but  they,  too,  had  their  affectations 
and  petty  vanities.  Being  young,  I  judged 
them  harshly  because  they  set  what  I  con- 
sidered too  much  store  upon  absurd  con- 
ventions. 

In  the  course  of  my  travels  since,  I  have 
69 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


come  to  realize  that  social  customs  are  a 
simple  matter  of  geography!  What  is 
proper  in  England  is  bad  form  in  France, 
and  many  customs  that  were  correct  in 
Vienna  would  be  intolerable  in  Spain.  In 
the  formal  circles  of  Vienna  no  one  spoke  to 
anybody  without  an  introduction.  In  Spain 
there  was  a  more  subtle  and  truly  aristo- 
cratic standard.  The  assumption  was  that 
anybody  one  met  in  the  home  of  one's  host 
was  desirable,  and  it  was  courtesy,  there- 
fore, to  begin  a  conversation  with  any  guest. 
This  is  the  attitude  also  in  parts  of  France. 

But  in  those  first  months  I  had  not  ac- 
quired my  philosophy.  I  lived  through 
homesick  days,  and  some  that  were  hard 
and  bitter.  I  stayed  with  Tom  that  first 
year  only  because  I  was  too  bewildered  to 
take  any  initiative,  and  because  I  kept 
hoping  that  things  would  right  themselves 
and  I  would  wake  out  of  my  nightmare. 

My  baby  came  in  the  second  year,  and 
70 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


then  I  could  not  go  home.  The  simple  life 
of  my  own  people  slipped  very,  very  far 
away.  We  made  a  hurried  trip  back  to  the 
United  States  that  summer,  but  Tom  would 
not  consent  to  my  going  West.  His  own 
family  wanted  to  see  our  baby,  and  they  de- 
cided that  the  little  fellow  had  traveled 
enough  and  should  not  be  subjected  to  the 
hardships  of  a  cross-country  train  trip. 

So  Tom  sent  for  mother  and  the  twins  to 
come  to  us,  and  they  arrived  at  the  Waldorf 
Hotel,  where  we  were  staying.  Dear,  simple 
mother,  in  her  terrible  clothes,  and  the  twins, 
got  up  with  more  thought  for  economy  than 
for  beauty!  I  shopped  extravagantly  with 
them.  The  youngsters  wanted  to  see  every- 
thing in  New  York;  but  mother,  despite  all 
of  those  hard,  lonely  years  in  our  rough 
country  and  the  many  interesting  things  for 
her  to  do  and  see  in  New  York  —  mother 
wanted  nothing  better  than  to  stay  with  the 
baby. 

71 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


With  all  the  children  she  had  brought  into 
this  world  one  might  think  she  had  seen 
enough  of  babies.  But  she  adored  my  little 
son.  How  near  she  seemed  to  me  then! 
How  hungry  I  had  been  for  her,  without 
realizing  it!  I  felt  that  she  loved  my  baby 
boy  as  she  had  never  loved  me  or  any  of  her 
own  children.  And  I  understood  why 
mother  never  had  had  time  to  love  her  own 
babies.  In  the  struggle  for  existence  of 
those  hard  years  she  had  never  had  a  minute 
to  indulge  in  the  pure  joy  of  having  her 
baby.  I  sat  watching  her  with  her  first 
grandchild,  so  sweet  in  his  exquisite  hand- 
sewn  little  clothes,  and  suddenly  I  found 
myself  crying  hysterically. 

Mother  was  very  dear  to  me  from  that 
day.  Later  in  this  chronicle  I  want  to  give 
a  chapter  to  my  mother  and  what  we  both 
suffered  during  this  period  of  her  visit  to 
New  York,  for  it  marked  the  climax  of  my 
own  development. 

72 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


When  mother  and  the  children  started  off 
on  their  return  trip  to  the  West,  Tom  sent 
them  flowers  and  candy  and  fruit.  He  had 
already  generously  put  financial  worry 
away  from  my  family  for  all  time,  but  I 
knew  that  he  was  a  little  ashamed  of  some 
of  mother's  crudities.  I  wondered  why  I 
did  not  feel  ashamed.  I  was  very,  very  glad 
I  did  not.  It  gave  me  something  tangible 
to  cling  to  —  a  sure  consciousness  of  power, 
that  comes  of  knowing  one  possesses  the 
true  pride  to  rise  above  the  opinions  of  other 
peopled 

I  would  have  given  my  life,  that  day,  to 
be  able  to  assure  my  family  that  material 
security  which  they  owed  to  my  husband, 
who  neither  loved  nor  understood  them.  I 
looked  down  the  years  and  saw  myself 
crushed  by  a  burden  of  indebtedness  to  a 
man  I  felt  I  no  longer  loved.  Only  mother's 
grateful,  simple  happiness  eased  my  hurt. 

I  had  never  approached  my  mother,  but  I 
73 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


knew  now  that  if  her  natural  dignity  and 
great,  kind  heart  had  been  given  the  ad- 
vantages that  the  women  in  my  husband's 
family  took  as  a  matter  of  course,  she  would 
have  been  superior  to  them  all.  Yet  they 
barely  tolerated  mother — no  more. 

I  longed  to  go  home  to  my  own  warm, 
hearty,  open  West.  I  stood  on  the  ferry 
after  they  had  gone,  thinking  that,  if  my 
family  were  not  so  deeply  indebted  to  my 
husband,  I  would  leave  him. 

I  suppose  I  did  not  really  mean  that 
thought,  but  it  made  me  unhappy.  I  felt 
disloyal  and  dishonest.  Finally  I  told  Tom. 
There  was  a  scene;  but  from  that  day  he 
began  to  understand  me,  and  things  were 
better. 

A  few  days  later  we  came  home  from  a 
dinner  party,  and,  after  going  to  the  baby's 
room  for  a  minute,  Tom  asked  me  to  stay 
and  talk.  But  he  did  not  talk.  For  a  long 
time  he  sat  smoking  and  thinking.    I  knew 

74 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


he  had  something  on  his  mind,  and  I  waited. 
Finally  I  realized  that  he  was  embarrassed. 
"Can  I  help?     Is  it  something  I  have 
done  that  has  embarrassed  you?"  I  asked. 

That  was  many  years  ago,  but  I  can  never 
forget  the  look  Tom  gave  me.  It  held  all 
the  love  of  our  courtship  and  something  be- 
sides that  I  had  never  seen  in  his  face  before. 

"For  God's  sake,  never  say  that  to  me 
again!"  he  cried.  "Embarrassed  me!  I 
am  proud  of  you  —  you  never  can  know 
how  proud.  I  was  sitting  here  trying  to 
think  how  to  tell  you  something  my  mother 
said  about  you,  and  just  what  it  means." 

His  mother!  My  heart  dropped.  His 
mother  had  never  said  anything  about  me, 
excepting  criticism.  I  had  been  a  bitter  dis- 
appointment to  her.  Whatever  she  said 
would  be  politely  cruel  —  at  best,  a  damning 
with  faint  praise. 

"  She  said,"  my  husband  went  on,  "  that 
75 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


she  is  very  happy  in  our  marriage,  com- 
pletely satisfied,  and  that  she  has  come  to 
be  proud  of  you.  I  don't  know  how  to  tell 
you  just  what  that  means." 

I  knew.  I  knew  his  mother  could  have 
given  me  no  higher  praise.  I  had  learned 
what  to  her  were  the  essentials;  I  had  cul- 
tivated the  manner  she  placed  above  price. 
But  the  realization  brought  self-distrust. 
Had  I  lost  my  honesty  and  sincerity? 

Tom  went  on  to  tell  me  that  his  mother 
had  particularly  admired  my  attitude  toward 
my  own  mother,  and  the  manner  in  which  I 
met  every  little  failing  of  hers.  She  felt  I 
had  a  sense  of  true  values  in  people,  and 
that  the  simplicity  and  sureness  with  which 
I  had  met  this  situation  was  the  essence  of 
good  breeding. 

I  had  not  thought  it  possible  that  Tom's 

mother  could  understand  my  feeling  for  my 

mother  and  my  honest  pride  in  her  real 

worth.    Perhaps,  I  reflected,  I  had  been  un- 

76 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


just  to  my  mother-in-law.  I  knew  what  a 
shock  I  had  been  to  her  in  the  early  days  of 
our  marriage,  and  I  knew  only  too  well  that 
even  Tom  had  often  regretted  my  ignorance 
of  social  usages. 

They  are  simple  customs,  and  should  be 
taught  in  every  school  in  America,  but  I  had 
not  learned  them. 

I  was  happy  that  night  and  for  days 
afterward. 

Then  we  went  back  to  Europe.  Tom 
knew  people  on  the  steamer  to  whom  I  took 
a  dislike.  They  were  bold  and  even  vulgar, 
and  Tom  admitted  that  he  did  not  admire 
them.  I  made  up  my  mind  we  should  avoid 
them.  The  next  afternoon  I  found  Tom 
and  that  group  walking  the  deck  arm  in 
arm,  chatting  affably.  When  we  were 
alone,  I  asked  Tom  how  he  could  do  it.  I 
know  now  that  a  man  cannot  hold  an  official 
position  like  Tom's  and  ignore  politically 
important  people.  But  he  only  said  rather 
77 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


carelessly,  and  with  a  laugh,  that  it  was  one 
of  the  prices  a  man  pays  for  public  office. 

After  that  I  noticed  that  my  husband  was 
known  to  nearly  every  one.  He  had  a  glad 
hand  and  a  smile  for  the  public  —  because 
it  was  the  public.  I  watched  to  see  if  he  had 
a  slightly  different  smile  for  the  people  of 
Back  Bay  and  his  own  particular  social 
class;  sometimes  I  thought  he  had,  and  it 
made  me  a  little  soul-sick. 

I  longed  for  a  home  for  my  baby  and  a 
few  friends  I  could  love  and  really  enjoy. 
I  was  not  fitted  to  be  the  wife  of  a  public 
man. 

It  was  the  poverty  and  crudeness  of 
my  youth  that  had  made  me  intolerant. 
One  of  the  big  lessons  life  has  taught  me  is 
that  people  can  be  amiable,  tolerant,  and 
even  friendly,  and  still  be  sincere.  The 
pleasantry  of  social  relations  among  the 
civilized  peoples  of  the  earth  is  a  mere  gar- 
78 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


ment  we  wear  for  our  own  protection  and 
to  cover  our  feelings.  It  is  the  oil  of  the 
machinery  of  life.  I  have  found  that  men 
and  women  who  take  part  in  the  big  work 
of  the  earth  wear  that  garment  of  civility 
and  graciousness,  and  yet  have  their  strong 
friendships  and  even  their  bitter  enmities. 

But  I  did  not  understand  this  when  we 
went  back  to  Europe.  I  only  knew  that  my 
husband  was  amiable  to  people  he  did  not 
like,  and  I  questioned  how  deep  his  affec- 
tion for  me  went.  How  much  of  his  kind- 
ness to  me  was  just  the  easiest  way  and  the 
manner  of  a  gentleman? 

A  hard  and  bare  youth  had  made  me 
supersensitive  and  suspicious  and  narrow. 
I  wanted  to  measure  other  people  by  the 
standards  of  my  own  primitive  years.  Out 
on  the  frontier  we  had  judged  life  in  the 
rough.  Courage  and  truth  were  the  es- 
sentials. A  man  fought  his  enemies  out  in 
the  open,  and  made  no  compromises.  There 
79 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


was  nothing  easy  in  life,  no  smooth  rhythm. 
And  I  tried  to  drag  forward  with  me,  as  I 
went,  the  bold  ethics  of  the  frontier.  I  re- 
sented good  manners  because  I  believed 
they  were  a  cloak  of  hypocrisy. 

A  few  months  after  we  returned  to 
Europe  the  shadow  of  death  crossed  our 
path,  swiftly  and  terribly.  My  little  son 
died.  Other  babies  came  to  us  later,  but 
that  first  little  boy  had  brought  more  into 
my  life  than  all  the  rest  of  the  world  could 
ever  give.  He  had  restored  my  faith  in  life, 
my  hope,  and  for  a  while  was  all  my  joy. 

People  were  kind,  but  I  felt  that  many 
called  merely  because  it  was  "good  form" 
—  "  the  thing  to  do."  Bitterness  was  creep- 
ing into  my  heart. 

Yet  why  should  it  not  be  "  the  thing  to 
do"  to  call  on  a  bereaved  mother?  It  is  a 
gesture  of  humanity. 

Tom  seemed  very  far  away.  I  felt  that 
his  pride  was  hurt,  perhaps  his  vanity;  for 
80 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


he  had  boasted  of  the  little  fellow  and  loved 
to  show  him  off.    How  little  I  understood! 

I  bring  myself  to  tell  these  intimate 
things  because  there  is  a  lesson  in  them  for 
other  women — because  I  resent  that  any 
free-born  American  citizen  should  be  handi- 
capped by  lacking  so  small  and  easily  ac- 
quired a  possession  as  poise,  poise  that  comes 
with  knowledge  of  the  simple  rules  of  the 
social  game.  It  is  my  hope  that  this  honest 
confession  of  my  own  feelings,  due  directly 
to  lack  of  training,  may  help  other  women, 
and  particularly  other  mothers  whose  chil- 
dren are  now  in  the  plastic  years. 

It  was  my  utter  lack  of  appreciation  of 
manners  and  customs  in  my  husband's  class 
that  estranged  me  from  Tom.  I  was  resent- 
ful and  antagonistic  merely  because  I  was 
different. 

My  husband  was  suffering  even  as  I  was 

suffering;  but  no  one  realized  it,  least  of  all 

81 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


myself.  Every  one  was  especially  kind  to 
me,  because  I  was  a  woman.  People  are 
rarely  attentive  and  tender  with  men  when 
loss  comes.  Men  are  supposed  to  be  strong 
and  self -controlled ;  their  hearts  are  rated 
as  a  little  less  deep  and  tender  than  the 
hearts  of  women;  yet  when  men  are  truly 
hurt  they  need  love  and  care  even  as  little 
children. 

A  month  after  the  baby's  death,  Tom  and 
I  were  walking  along  the  Embankment  in 
London  one  Saturday  afternoon,  when  we 
met  a  small  girl  carrying  a  little  child. 

The  baby  was  too  tired  to  walk  any 
farther;  it  was  dirty,  and  was  crying  bit- 
terly. Tom  stopped,  spoke  to  the  girl,  and 
offered  to  carry  the  baby,  who  soon  quieted 
down  on  Tom's  shoulder.  At  the  end  of 
that  walk  Tom's  light  summer  suit  was 
ruined.  I  expected  him  to  turn  with  some 
trivial,  jesting  remark,  but  he  said  nothing. 
I  looked  at  him  and  saw  that  his  face  was 
82 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


set  and  hard  and  his  eyes  wet.  Without 
looking  at  me,  he  said:  "Don't  speak  to  me 
now." 

That  moment  of  silence  revealed  to  me 
my  husband's  character  better  than  months 
of  talking. 

The  next  day  my  husband  came  to  me 
and  said: 

"Mary,  I  have  asked  for  a  leave  of  ab- 
sence. We  are  going  back  to  the  United 
States.  We  are  going  out  West  to  have  a 
visit  with  your  family." 

Two  years  before  I  had  believed  that 
Tom  would  not  fit  into  my  Northwest.  But 
in  twenty-four  hours  Tom  and  my  father 
were  old  pals.  He  was  as  much  at  home 
with  mother  and  the  children  as  I,  and  all 
the  neighbors  liked  him.  He  was  interested 
in  everything  on  the  ranch,  and  even  in  the 
small-town  life  of  the  village.  He  interested 
father  in  putting  modern  equipment  on  the 
ranch.  He  went  hunting  with  the  men, 
83 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


played  games  with  the  children,  visited  the 
little  district  schoolhouse,  and  found  joy  in 
buying  gifts  for  the  youngsters.  When 
mother  made  a  big  platter  full  of  taffy,  he 
pulled  as  enthusiastically  as  a  boy.  As  I 
stood  at  the  corral,  one  day,  and  watched 
Tom  with  my  youngest  brother,  I  remem- 
bered him  at  the  court  of  St.  James,  and 
I  began  to  understand. 

Tom  was  natural.  It  was  just  a  part  of 
him  to  be  kindly  and  gracious  to  everybody. 
I  had  never  seen  him  angry  with  men  of  his 
own  type,  but  I  saw  him  furious  enough  to 
commit  murder  when  a  man  on  the  ranch 
tied  up  a  dog  and  beat  her  for  running 
away.  In  after  years  I  saw  Tom  angry 
with  men  of  his  own  class ;  I  saw  him  waging 
long,  bitter  rights  against  public  men  who 
had  betrayed  public  trust.  Something  bar- 
baric in  me  was  satisfied  that  my  kind, 
gently  bred  man  was  one  with  the  men  of 
my  own  tribe,  who  fought  man  and  beast 
84 


THE  LOG- CABIN  LADY 


and  the  elements  to  take  civilization  farther 
west. 

Almost  a  generation  slipped  by  between 
that  visit  to  the  West  and  the  next  scene  in 
my  life  of  which  I  shall  write.  Many  things 
of  personal  and  of  national  importance  hap- 
pened meantime,  but  they  have  nothing  to 
do  with  this  message  to  women. 

I  was  in  France  when  the  World  War 
began.  I  had  been  in  Vienna  again,  and  in 
England  at  regular  intervals.  I  had  learned 
to  accept  life  as  I  found  it,  and  to  get  much 
joy  out  of  living.  Sometimes  I  chafed  a 
little  under  the  demands  of  social  life  and 
needless  formalities,  but  I  accepted  them  as 
inevitable. 

Then  the  world  was  torn  in  two.  The 
earth  dripped  in  blood  and  sorrow.  Life 
became  more  difficult  than  on  the  frontier, 
and  more  elemental. 

I  was  present,  in  the  first  year  of  the  war, 
85 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


in  a  house  where  the  King  and  Queen  of  the 
Belgians  were  guests,  where  great  generals 
and  great  statesmen  had  gathered  on  great 
and  earnest  and  desperate  business.  I  was 
only  an  onlooker,  and  I  noticed  what  every 
one  else  was  too  absorbed  to  see.  As  the 
evening  progressed,  I  realized  that  pomp 
and  ceremony  had  died  with  the  youth  of 
France.  King,  generals,  statesmen  met  as 
human  men  pitting  their  wits  against  one 
another,  desperately  struggling  to  find  a 
way  out  of  the  hell  into  which  they  were 
falling. 

Twice  the  king  rose  to  his  feet,  and  no 
one  else  stood.  They  were  all  too  deep  in 
the  terrible  question  of  war. 

When  the  meeting  was  over  and  the 
guests  of  the  house  ready  to  retire,  the  little 
queen  said  very  quietly: 

"  Madam,  may  not  my  husband  and  I  oc- 
cupy this  room  together?  It  is  very  kind  of 
you  to  arrange  two  suites  for  us,  but  I  am 

86 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


sure  there  are  many  guests  here  to-night  — 
and,  anyway,  I  prefer  to  be  near  him." 

The  war  had  done  that.  Who  would  ex- 
pect a  queen  to  think  of  the  problems  of 
housing  guests,  even  a  great  queen?  And 
the  war  had  made  the  king  not  the  king, 
but  her  man,  very  near  and  very  dear. 

Many  other  conventions  I  saw  die  by  the 
way  as  the  war  progressed.  Then  America 
came  in. 

There  is  a  temptation  to  talk  about  Amer- 
ica in  the  war,  but,  after  all,  that  has  no 
bearing  on  my  story.  Soon  after  the  United 
States  entered,  American  men  and  women 
began  to  arrive  in  Europe  in  great  numbers. 
I  met  them  everywhere;  sight-seeing,  in 
offices,  at  universities,  at  embassies  and  con- 
sulates. I  met  them  and  loved  them  and 
suffered  for  them. 

I  was  proud  of  something  they  brought 
to  France  that  France  needed,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  that  many  of  them  took  back  to 
87 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


America  something  from  France  that  we 
need. 

For  pure  mental  quality  and  courage,  no 
people  on  earth  could  match  what  the  Amer- 
ican girls  took  to  France.  It  was  the  finest 
stuff  in  the  world.  They  knew  how  to  meet 
hardship  without  grumbling.  They  knew 
how  to  run  a  kitchen  and  see  that  hungry 
men  were  fed.  They  knew  how  to  nurse,  to 
run  telephones,  automobiles  —  anything 
that  needed  to  be  done.  Some  failed  and 
fell  by  the  wayside,  but  they  were  the 
smallest  possible  percentage. 

Those  American  girls  knew  how  to  do 
everything  —  almost  everything. 

Two  wonderful  girls,  one  who  ran  a  tele- 
phone for  the  army  and  another  in  the  "  Y," 
both  from  the  Middle  West,  were  at  head- 
quarters the  day  the  King  and  Queen  of  the 
Belgians  arrived.  With  others  they  were 
sent  to  serve  tea,  and  they  served  it.  The 
"Y"  girl,  taking  a  young  captain  whose 
88 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


presence  made  her  eyes  glisten  to  her  Maj- 
esty, said: 

"  Captain  Blank,  meet  the  queen." 
And  the  queen,  holding  out  her  hand,  and 
never  batting  an  eye  to  show  that  all  the 
conventions  had  been  thrown  to  the  winds, 
said: 

"  Captain,  I  am  very  happy  to  meet  you." 
They  served  tea  —  served  it  to  the  king, 
the  queen,  the  general  of  the  American 
army,  and  other  important  people.  There 
was  cake  besides  tea,  and  it  was  not  easy 
to  drink  tea  and  eat  cake  standing.  The 
telephone  girl  insisted  that  General  Persh- 
ing must  sit  down.  The  king  was  standing, 
and  of  course,  General  Pershing  continued 
to  do  the  same. 

"Will  you  sit  down?"  said  another  girl 

to  the  king.    "  There  are  plenty  of  chairs." 

That  girl  had  done  her  job  in  France  — 

a  job  of  which  many  a  man  might  have  been 

proud  —  and  on  her  left  breast  she  wore  a 

89 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


military  medal  for  valor.  The  king  touched 
the  medal,  smiled  at  her,  and  said  he  was 
glad  there  were  plenty  of  chairs,  for  he  knew 
places  where  there  were  not. 

But  General  Pershing  and  his  cake  still 
bothered  the  little  Illinois  girl,  who  went 
back  at  him  again  and  asked  him  to  sit  down 
and  enjoy  his  cake.  The  king  indicated  to 
the  general  to  be  seated. 

No  one  but  General  Pershing  would  have 
known  what  to  do  between  the  rule  to  stand 
when  a  king  stands  and  the  rule  to  obey  the 
order  of  the  king.  He  gracefully  placed  his 
plate  on  the  side  of  a  table,  half  seated  him- 
self on  it,  which  was  a  compromise,  and 
went  on  enjoying  himself.  The  king  sat 
down. 

If  any  one  had  told  that  girl  the  sacred- 
ness  of  the  convention  she  had  ignored,  she 
would  have  suffered  as  keenly  as  I  had 
suffered  in  my  youth.  It  was  such  a  simple 
thing  to  learn;  yet  who  in  the  middle  of  a 
90 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


war  would  think  of  stopping  to  run  a  class 
in  etiquette?  The  point  is  that  any  girl 
capable  of  crossing  half  the  world  to  do  a 
big  job  and  a  hard  one  in  a  foreign  land 
should  have  been  given  the  opportunity  to 
learn  the  rules  of  social  intercourse. 

I  saw  some  American  girls  and  men  on 
official  occasions  at  private  houses  and  at 
official  functions.  They  were  clever,  at- 
tractive, fascinating;  but  when  they  came 
to  the  end  of  their  visit,  they  rose  to  go,  and 
then  stood  talking,  talking,  talking.  They 
did  not  know  exactly  how  to  get  away.  They 
did  not  want  to  be  abrupt  nor  appear  to  be 
glad  to  leave. 

It  would  have  been  so  simple  for  some 
one  to  say  to  them : 

"  One  of  the  first  rules  in  social  life  is 
to  get  up  and  go  when  you  are  at  the  end 
of  your  visit." 

I  was  in  Paris  when  Marshal  Joffre  gave 
91 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


the  American  Ambassador,  Mr.  Sharp,  the 
gold  oak  leaves  as  a  token  of  France's  ven- 
eration for  America.  There  were  young 
girls  around  us  who  did  not  hesitate  to  com- 
ment on  everybody  there.  One  little  New 
Jersey  girl  insisted  rather  audibly  that 
Clemenceau  looked  like  the  old  watchman  on 
their  block ;  and  a  boy,  a  young  officer,  com- 
plained that  General  Foch  "had  not  won 
as  many  decorations  as  General  Bliss  and 
General  Pershing."  Some  youngsters  asked 
high  officers  for  souvenirs.  Many  French 
people  perhaps  did  worse,  but  it  hurt  me 
to  see  even  a  few  of  our  own  splendid  young 
people  guilty  of  such  crudities,  because  our 
American  youth  is  so  fine  at  heart. 

When  the  great  artist  Rodin  died,  I  went 
to  the  public  ceremony  held  in  his  memory. 
Suddenly  I  realized  that  America  and 
France  each  had  something  left  that  war 
had  not  destroyed.  A  young  American  art 
student,  who  had  given  up  his  career  for  his 
92 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


uniform,  and  was  invalided  back  in  Paris 
minus  an  arm,  stood  very  near  me.  As  he 
turned  to  Colonel  House  I  heard  him  say: 
"  Rodin's  going  is  another  battle  lost." 
It  was  typical  of  the  American  quality  of 
which  we  have  cause  to  boast  —  the  fineness 
of  heart  that  is  in  our  young  people. 

The  day  of  the  armistice  in  France,  those 
of  us  who  are  older  stood  looking  on  and 
realizing  that  all  class  distinctions,  all  race, 
age,  and  pursuits,  had  been  wiped  off  the 
map.  People  were  just  people.  There  was 
a  complete  abandon.  I  am  not  a  young 
woman,  but  I  was  caught  up  by  the  fury  of 
the  crowd,  and  swept  along  singing,  laugh- 
ing, weeping.  Young  soldiers  passing  would 
reach  out  to  touch  my  hand,  sometimes  to 
kiss  me. 

That  night  I  believed  that  the  war  had 
broken  down  many  of  our  barriers;  that  all 
foolish  customs  had  died;  that  the  terrific 
93 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


price  paid  in  human  blood  and  human  suf- 
fering had  at  least  left  a  world  honest  with 
itself,  simple  and  ready  for  good  comrade- 
ship ;  that  men  were  measured  by  manliness 
and  women  by  ideals.  It  was  a  part  of  the 
armistice  day  fervor,  but  I  believed  it. 

And  then  I  came  home  and  went  to  New- 
port. 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


JUST  before  I  came  home  to  America  in 
the  Spring  of  1919, 1  went  to  Essex  for 
a  week-end  in  one  of  those  splendid  old 
estates  which  are  the  pride  of  England. 

It  was  not  my  first  visit,  but  I  was  awed 
anew  by  the  immensity  of  the  place,  its 
culture  and  wealth  which  seemed  to  have 
existed  always,  its  aged  power  and  pride. 
Whole  lives  had  been  woven  into  its  window 
curtains  and  priceless  rugs ;  centuries  of  art 
lived  in  the  great  tapestries ;  successive  gen- 
erations of  great  artists  had  painted  the 
ancestors  of  the  present  owner. 

All  three  sons  of  that  house  went  into  the 
war.  One  never  returned  from  Egypt, 
another  is  buried  in  Flanders.  Only  the 
youngest  returned. 

At  first  glance  the  smooth  life  seemed  un- 
changed in  the  proud  old  house.  But  before 
sundown  of  my  first  day  there,  I  knew  that 
95 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


life  had  put  its  acid  test  to  the  shield  and 
proved  it  pure  gold. 

War  taxes  had  fallen  heavily  on  the  estate 
and  it  was  to  be  leased  to  an  American. 
Until  then,  the  castle  was  a  home  to  less 
fortunate  buddies  of  the  owner's  sons. 

But  these  were  not  the  tests  I  mean, 
neither  these  nor  the  courage  and  the  poise 
of  that  family  in  the  face  of  their  terrible 
loss,  nor  their  effort  to  make  every  one 
happy  and  comfortable. 

It  was  an  incident  at  tea  time  that  opened 
my  eyes.  The  youngest  son,  now  the  only 
son,  came  in  from  a  cross-country  tramp  and 
brought  with  him  a  pleasant  faced  young 
woman  whom  he  introduced  as  "  one  of  my 
pals  in  the  war." 

That  was  enough.  Lady  R.  greeted  her 
as  one  of  the  royal  blood.  The  girl  was  the 
daughter  of  a  Manchester  plumber.  She 
had  done  her  bit,  and  it  had  been  a  hard 
96 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


bit,  in  the  war,  and  now  she  was  stenog- 
rapher in  a  near-by  village. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  the  story  came  out. 
She  had  been  clerk  in  the  Q.  M.  corps  and 
after  her  brother's  death  she  asked  for  serv- 
ice near  the  front,  something  hard.  She 
got  it. 

The  mules  in  the  supply  and  ammunition 
trains  must  be  fed  and  it  was  her  job  to  get 
hay  to  a  certain  division.  The  girl  had  ten 
motor  trucks  to  handle  and  twenty  men, 
three  of  them  noncommissioned  officers. 

After  four  days,  during  which  trucks  had 
disappeared  and  mules  gone  unfed,  she 
asked  the  colonel  for  the  rank  of  first  ser- 
geant, with  only  enlisted  men  under  her. 

Her  first  official  orders  were:  All  trucks 
must  stay  together.  If  one  breaks  down,  the 
others  will  stop  and  help. 

The  second  day  of  her  new  command,  she 
met  our  young  host,  who  needed  a  truck  to 
move  supplies  and  tried  to  commandeer  one 

97 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


of  hers.  When  she  refused,  he  ordered  her. 
He  was  a  captain. 

"  I  am  under  orders  to  get  those  ten  loads 
of  hay  to  the  mules,"  was  her  reply. 

"  What  will  you  do  if  I  just  take  one  of 
them?"  asked  the  captain. 

"You  won't,"  said  the  girl  confidently. 

"  I  must  get  a  truck,"  he  insisted.  "  What 
can  you  do  about  it  if  I  take  one  of  yours? " 

"England  needs  men,"  she  answered. 
"  But  if  you  made  it  necessary  I  'd  have  to 
shoot  you.  If  the  mules  are  n't  fed,  you  and 
other  men  can't  fight.  If  you  were  fit  to  be 
a  captain,  you  'd  know  that." 

The  young  captain  told  the  story  himself 
and  his  family  enjoyed  it,  evidently  admir- 
ing the  Manchester  lassie,  who  sat  there  as 
red  as  a  poppy. 

They    did   not    bend   to    the    plumber's 
daughter,  nor  seem  to  try  to  lift  her  to 
the  altars  of  their  ancient  hall. 
98 


\ 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


Every  one  met  on  new  ground,  a  ground 
where  human  beings  had  faced  death  to- 
gether. It  was  sign  of  a  new  fellowship, 
too  deep  and  fine  for  even  a  fish  knife  to 
sever.  There  was  no  consciousness  of  ancient 
class.  There  was  only  to-day  and  to-mor- 
row. 

It  was  the  America  I  love  —  that  spirit. 
The  best  America — valuing  a  human  being 
for  personal  worth. 

Then  I  sailed  for  home.  I  went  to  New- 
port, to  the  Atlantic  coast  resorts.  They 
were  all  the  same. 

The  world  had  changed  but  not  my  own 
country. 

I  saw  more  show  of  wealth,  more  extrav- 
agance, more  carelessness,  more  reckless 
morals  than  ever  before,  and  —  horrible  to 
contemplate  —  springing  up  in  the  new 
world,  the  narrow  social  standards  which 
war  had  torn  from  the  old. 

Social  lines  tightened.  Men  who  had  been 
99 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


overwhelmingly  welcome  while  they  wore 
shoulder  straps  were  now  rated  according 
to  bank  accounts  or  "  family."  The  "  dough- 
boy shavetail",  a  hero  before  the  armistice, 
or  the  aviator  who  held  the  stage  until  No- 
vember eleventh,  once  he  put  on  his  serge 
suit  and  went  back  to  selling  insurance  or 
keeping  books,  became  a  nodding  acquaint- 
ance, sometimes  not  even  that. 

I  was  heartsick.  I  thought  often  of  those 
splendid  men  I  had  met  in  France  and  of 
the  girls  who  poured  tea  for  the  King  of  the 
Belgians.  I  wondered  if  any  one  back  home 
was  "just  nodding"  to  them. 

Everywhere  was  the  blatant  show  of  new 
wealth. 

New  money  always  glitters.  I  saw  it  in 
cars  with  aluminum  hoods  and  gold  fittings, 
diamonds  big  as  birds'  eggs,  ermine  coats 
in  the  daytime  —  jeweled  heels  at  night. 

Bad  breeding  plus  new  money  shouted 
from  every  street  corner. 
100 


THE  LOG -CABIN  LADY 


At  private  dinners,  I  ate  foods  that  I 
knew  were  served  merely  because  they  were 
expensive,  glutton  feasts  with  twice  as  much 
as  any  one  could  eat  with  comfort. 

One  day  I  went  to  market — the  kind  of 
a  market  to  which  my  mother  would  have 
gone  —  and  I  saw  women  whose  husbands 
labored  hard,  scorning  to  buy  any  but  por- 
terhouse steaks — merely  because  porter- 
house steak  stood  for  prosperity. 

In  Washington  I  met  a  new  kind  of 
American,  a  type  that  has  sprung  up  sud- 
denly like  an  evil  toadstool. 

It  is  a  fungous  disease  that  spreads. 
Some  hangs  from  old  American  stock, 
some  dangles  from  recent  plantings,  all 
of  it  is  snobbish  and  offensive.  It  wears 
foreign  clothes  and  affects  foreign  ways, 
sometimes  even  foreign  accents.  It  chops 
and  mumbles  its  words  like  English  serv- 
ants who  speak  their  language  badly. 
Some  of  this  is  acquired  at  fashionable 
101 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


finishing  schools  or  from  foreign  sec- 
retaries and  servants.  These  new  Amer- 
icans try  to  appear  superior  and  distinctive 
by  scorning  all  things  American.  They  want 
English  chintzes  in  their  homes,  French 
brocades  and  Italian  silks  and  do  not  even 
know  that  some  of  these  very  textiles  from 
America  have  won  prizes  in  Europe  since 
1912.  An  American  manufacturer  told  me 
he  has  to  stamp  his  cretonne  "  English  style 
print "  to  sell  it  in  this  country. 

This  new  species  of  American  apes  royalty. 
It  goes  in  for  crests.  It  may  have  made 
its  money  in  gum  shoes  or  chewing  tobacco, 
but  it  hires  a  genealogist  to  dig  up  a  shield. 
Fine,  if  you  are  entitled  to  a  crest.  But  fake 
genealogists  will  cook  up  a  coat  for  the 
price. 

There  are  crests  on  the  motor-cars,  crests 
on  the  stationery,  on  the  silver,  the  toilet 
articles  —  there  are  sometimes  even  crests 
102 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


on  the  servants'  buttons  and  on  linen  and 
underclothes ! 

Fake  crests  are  the  first  step  down,  and 
like  all  lies  they  lead  to  other  lies.  The  next 
step  is  ancestors. 

Selling  and  painting  ancestors  is  another 
business  which  thrives  around  New  York, 
Philadelphia,  and  Washington.  And  the 
public  swallows  it.  They  swallow  each  other's 
ancestors.  Even  old  families  take  these  new 
descendants  as  a  matter  of  course. 

One  of  these  new  Americans  recently  gave 
a  large  feast  in  Washington  with  every  out- 
of-season  delicacy  in  profusion.  The  only 
simple  thing  in  the  house  was  the  mind  of  the 
hostess.    That  night  it  was  a  tangled  skein. 

I  saw  she  was  worried.  Her  house  was 
full  of  potentates,  the  wives  of  two  cabinet 
officers,  and  Mrs.  Coolidge.  She  left  the 
room  twice  after  the  dinner  hour  had  ar- 
rived, and  it  was  late  when  dinner  was 
finally  announced. 

103 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


Later  in  the  evening  one  of  the  servants 
whispered  to  the  hostess  that  she  was  wanted 
on  the  telephone — the  State  Department. 

She  returned  to  the  drawing-room  look- 
ing as  if  she  had  just  heard  of  a  death  in 
the  family.  The  guests  began  considerately 
to  leave. 

Her  expensive  party  was  a  dismal  failure. 
As  I  have  known  her  husband  for  years,  I 
asked  if  I  could  be  of  any  use. 

"  It 's  too  late,  now,"  he  said.  "  She  had 
the  Princess  Bibesco  and  the  Princess  Lu- 
bomirska  here  and  the  wife  of  the  Vice 
President,  and  she  didn't  know  the  preced- 
ence they  took.  She  held  up  dinner  half 
an  hour  trying  to  get  the  State  Department 
and  now  they  tell  her  she  guessed  wrong. 
It 's  a  tragedy  to  her." 

I    confess    I    did   not    feel   very    sorry 
for  that  woman.     I  remembered  my  little 
Indiana  girl  who  introduced  the  captain  to 
the  Queen  of  Belgium. 
104 


Her  expensive  party  was  a  dismal  failure.     Page  104. 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


I  began  to  feel  as  if  all  America  were 
like  the  De  Morgan  jingle: 

"Great  fleas  have  little  fleas 
On  their  backs  to  bite  'em, 
And  little  fleas  have  lesser  fleas 
And  so  ad  infinitum." 

Then  I  took  a  trip  across  the  continent, 
stopping  off  in  Indiana  to  see  my  little  Y 
friends.  It  was  like  a  bath  for  my  soul. 
Brains  count  out  West.  Anybody  who  tries 
to  show  off  is  snubbed. 

You  must  do  something  to  be  anything 
in  the  Middle  West;  just  to  have  something 
doesn't  count.  You  don't  list  your  ances- 
tors as  you  must  in  Virginia  or  the  Carolinas, 
but  to  feel  self-respecting  you  must  do 
something. 

I  was  happy  to  renew  my  war  time  friend- 
ships. Those  who  have  not  shared  a  great 
work  or  a  greater  tragedy  will  not  under- 
stand these  bonds. 

The  same  young  friend  who  served  tea 
105 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


to  the  king  took  me  to  a  musicale.  She 
wore  her  war  medal.  One  of  the  guests,  a 
lady  from  Virginia  who  claims  four  coats  of 
arms,  was  impressed  by  the  girl's  medal 
and  the  fact  that  she  had  entertained  the 
king. 

The  girl  had  married  since  the  war,  a  fine 
young  Irish  lawyer,  with  a  family  name 
which  once  belonged  to  a  king  but  which, 
since  hard  times  hit  the  old  sod,  has  been  a 
butt  for  song  and  jest. 

The  name  did  not  impress  the  lady  from 
Virginia.  "You  have  such  an  interesting 
face,"  she  said.  "What  was  your  name  be- 
fore your  marriage?" 

"Oh,  it  was  much  less  interesting  than 
my  husband's,"  answered  my  young  Y 
friend,  and  lifting  the  conversation  out  of 
the  personal  she  asked,  "  Have  you  read 
Mr.  Keynes '  '  The  Economic  Consequences 
of  the  Peace?'" 

"I  hadn't  read  it  myself,"  she  confided 
106 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


to  me  later,  "  but  it  was  the  first  new  book 
I  could  think  of!" 

That  is  good  American  manners  and  what 
the  French  call  savoir  faire. 

The  Far  West  still  keeps  the  American 
inheritance  of  open  hearted  hospitality  and 
its  provincialism.  The  West  has  inherited 
some  of  the  finest  virtues  of  our  country,  and 
if  it  is  not  bitten  by  Back  Bay,  Philadelphia, 
Virginia,  or  Charleston,  it  will  grow  up  into 
its  mother's  finest  child. 

"No  church  west  of  Chicago,  no  God 
west  of  Denver,"  we  used  to  hear  when  I 
was  a  child.  But  to-day,  the  churches  are 
part  of  the  community  and  even  men  go. 
People  in  the  West  do  not  seem  to  go  to 
church  merely  out  of  respect  for  the  devil 
and  a  conscience  complex,  but  because  they 
like  to.  Churches  and  schools  are  important 
places  in  the  West. 

President  Harding  has  said  that  he 
hopes  more  and  more  people  will  learn  to 
107 


THE  LOG-CABIN  LADY 


want  to  pray  in  a  closet  alone  with  God. 
There  are  many  people  like  that  in  our 
Middle  West. 

I  say  this,  because  I  hope  it  may  help 
other  American  women  who  love  their  coun- 
try to  fight  for  honesty  and  purpose  in  our 
national  life,  and  for  tolerance  and  respect 
for  the  simple  things  in  our  private  lives. 


THE  END 


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